Pantyhose on a Mermaid

Mark Twain's Advice

2009-02-12T09:00:00.000-08:00

I notice that you use plain, simple language, short words and brief sentences. That is the way to write English--it is the modern way and the best way. Stick to it; don't let fluff and flowers and verbosity creep in. When you catch an adjective, kill it. No, I don't mean utterly, but kill most of them--then the rest will be valuable. They weaken when they are close together. They give strength when they are wide apart. An adjective habit, or a wordy, diffuse, flowery habit, once fastened upon a person, is as hard to get rid of as any other vice.
- Letter to D. W. Bowser, 3/20/1880

Twainquotes.com

I'm Eligible to be Nominated! Who knew?

2009-02-06T12:53:00.000-08:00

Ah, there are such interesting things to be learned by Googling oneself. I admit it. I did it and guess what I learned?
I'm in my second year of eligibility to be nominated for a John W. Campbell Best New Writer Award!
I honestly have to say I have no idea how this happened, since I've never heard of this award before today. The fact that my story "Before Paphos", published in 2007 at Strange Horizons, is even eligible has to mean that someone had to notice it and like it enough to make sure it made it into the pool of eligible nominees. I think.
Being on the list of eligible nominees is a long way from being nominated and even further away from winning, but it's nice to be noticed.
Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately for them, I don't know anyone who is a voting member or they'd be getting a few dozen pleading emails from me over the next few weeks. Do you know anyone??? :-)

Who's Looking For Love?

2009-02-06T12:23:00.000-08:00

Years ago, I entered a contest where the object was to create, using seventy words or fewer, a personal ad for a literary character. This was my entry:

About me:
I am no beauty. In truth, I am plain. However, I am clever, kind, loving, staunchly moral and upright. Perhaps I am more forgiving than I should be.

I am looking for:
A relationship with no secrets!

Note: To be considered, any swarthy gentleman in possession of a shadowy manse must agree to a thorough inspection of all buildings—attics included.

Contact me at jneyre1847@email.com

I didn't win, or even place, but I thought it was cute enough.

Okay, technically, Mrs. Rochester wasn't in the attic, but I was nipping at the word limit.

More fun with Gimp 2

2009-02-05T04:30:00.000-08:00

I used another photograph of mine to create this. I don't even know what to call these things. Maybe a digital postcard? A web-poster? Who knows.

I'm having fun with Gimp 2 though, which is free for download, by the way. Go here: Gimp.org.

Blushing

2009-02-04T05:30:00.000-08:00

One of these days I'm going to learn my lesson about poking fun at other peoples' writing, grammar or spelling errors.

A few days ago, I posted a blog entry ridiculing those who confuse these words: to, two and too.

Thinking myself clever, I used an online tool to create a book cover and called it "Using Homonyms for Idiots." Imagine my embarrassment upon discovering today that to, two and too are not homonyms; they are homophones.

I discovered this quite by accident while reading an article called "Fastidious spelling snobs pushed over the edge: Books, blogs and obsessiveness mark a brand-new war of the words" on MSNBC's website.

Just to make sure, off I went to the dictionary and wouldn't you know it, I got the two terms mixed up.

According to Dictionary.com "two words are homophones if they are pronounced the same way but differ in meaning or spelling or both (e.g. bare and bear)." Of course, the words to, too and two fall into this category.

According to the same source, a homonym is "a word having the same sound as another, but differing from it in meaning; as the noun bear and the verb bear." So, homonyms are spelled and sound the same but have different meanings, like fair (as in, "That's not fair!") and fair (as in, "Let's go to the fair.").

Yipes, I feel like the idiot now. I've learned my lesson. No more throwing stones at glass houses, while I'm obviously living in one.

By the way, I found the link to the MSNC article through my favorite news-aggregate website Fark.com. The link was accompanied by this hilarious headline, "Failing economy may be brining out more Grammer Nazi's."
Gotta love those Farkers!

Then I'm Pretty Productive.....

2009-02-03T05:00:00.000-08:00

I made this! Last Spring I took a digital picture of some flowers in my front yard. Then I used Gimp 2 to modify the picture and add the quote. I thought the quote appropriate considering....

Marion Zimmer Bradley Advice

2009-02-02T10:13:00.000-08:00

Though it was many years ago, I enjoyed reading Marion Zimmer Bradley's Avalon books. She died in 1999, but a website is still maintained by The Marion Zimmer Bradley Literary Works Trust. Along with promoting reprints of her books, the site also features several articles about writing, written, of course, by Bradley.
The articles are all over ten years old, naturally, but still offer sound advice about how to get published, grammar, and a few other topics. There are only nine articles in all, but I found each one very informative.
Check it out if you're interested:
Marion Zimmer Bradley Literary Works Trust

What I'm Reading

2009-01-28T05:00:00.000-08:00

I just picked up Death Comes for the Archbishop by Willa Cather. I'm only about six pages in, but am already finding myself again astonished by her wonderful, poetic prose.

When I was in college, I wrote an entire essay about these two paragraphs in Cather's novel My Antonia:

Presently we saw a curious thing: There were no clouds, the sun was going down in a limpid, gold-washed sky. Just as the lower edge of the red disc rested on the high fields against the horizon, a great black figure suddenly appeared on the face of the sun. We sprang to our feet, straining our eyes toward it.In a moment we realized what it was. On some upland farm, a plough had been left standing in the field. The sun was sinking just behind it. Magnified across the distance by the horizontal light, it stood out against the sun, was exactly contained within the circle of the disc; the handles, the tongue, the share--black against the molten red. There it was, heroic in size, a picture writing on the sun.
Even while we whispered about it, our vision disappeared; the ball dropped and dropped until the red tip went beneath the earth. The fields below us were dark, the sky was growing pale, and that forgotten plough had sunk back to its own littleness somewhere on the prairie.

Whenever I read something so exquisitely descriptive, capturing a moment in time so perfectly, I can't help but think, Oh, geez. I could never do that.

Thoughts like this can often lead to a writer's most potent enemy: self doubt. To combat these feelings of never being good enough, I have to give myself a pep-talk. I tell myself that, no, I will never be able to write like Cather, or Kafka or Hemmingway or anyone else. I can only write like me and that has to be good enough for me.

Post Rejects

2009-01-27T12:45:00.000-08:00

For those of you not familar with the site "Post Secret," this blog may not strike you as funny, but I think it is hilarious.
Post Rejects is a parody of Post Secret. Postsecret.com is a website where people are encouraged to share their secrets via anonymous postcards. Post Secret is terribly, terribly serious and has spawned symposiums and even coffee table books (and probably some bucks for the site owner). It was inevitable that a parody site would soon arise.
Here's one of my favorites from the Post Reject parody site:

Wow, it's like they looked right into my soul....

Fridge Poetry

2009-01-26T06:00:00.000-08:00

Word play is a great way to get ready to write. I like this online "fridge poetry" site. It is oddly relaxing just to drag words around and see what happens. I like seeing what others have left behind.
Here's an example:
"You don't abuse hedgehog farms."
Hmmmmm.....
Give it a try!
isnoop

Crash

2009-01-23T11:35:00.000-08:00

I've debated with myself a while about whether to post this poem or not. I don't write much poetry, because I often feel I don't understand all the rules of meter, etc. I could never remember the difference between blank verse and free verse when I was in school. I just don't feel as comfortable working with poetry as I do with prose.
I suppose, though, that writing isn't about being comfortable. Maybe writing about what makes us uncomfortable really brings out what is important. I'm not sure.
I wrote this poem over two years ago. That woman's face still haunts me. I wonder about her and others like her. I wonder what her day was like, her yesterday and tomorrow. I wonder if there was something I could have done....

Crash
In line at the supermarket
One lane over,
She leans with her elbow on the cart, knuckles on her hip.
She stands there nonchalant,
with a shattered face.

She is old and tiny.
Straggles of gray hair
Held back from her face with a pink ribbon.
Of course, she’s wearing long sleeves and jeans,
Even in the heart of summer.

Her eyes bug out,
but only because her cheekbones are crushed.
A nose without a bridge,
just a little, fleshy bump in the middle of her face.
A face blunted, edgeless,
leveled by cudgel fists.

Ah, yes. He’s there.
The big, he-man.
He’s old too, but tall and broad-shouldered.
Pink scalp shines through the gray stubble of his crew cut.
His hands, those hands, grip the
Shopping cart handle.

Oh, I hope they hurt him.
In winter. During rainstorms.
All the time.
I hope the pain is throbbing, deep-aching,
fire needles in the joints.
A small, daily payment
For the beatings.

When he turns his head to speak to her
I see her anxious expression as
She looks up at him,
like a child, wary, frightened…
heartbreaking.
A slight rocking back on her heels, not a full step,
but enough to convince me,
her face was no accident.

Shaking, enraged, outraged, I suppress the urge
To rocket canned goods at his head or just
Take him to the floor with a running tackle and
Bash his head into the gray-spotted linoleum in
Front of the magazine racks.
I want to hurt him. I really do.
Imagine what she must want.

And yet, I do nothing,
nothing, nothing,
nothing.

A Book I'd Like to See

2009-01-23T10:42:00.000-08:00

I'm not really one of the grammar police, everyone is entitled to make a mistake or three, but some things do drive me nuts. This book should be required reading in all high school English classes.

Want to create your own book cover?

Slinging Slang

2008-12-12T08:13:00.000-08:00

It is no secret I love the English language. I'm especially fascinated by slang--how it is created, used, changed and how it creeps into standard usage.
I found an interesting article at The Nation online on the subject and thought I'd share it.

Pixies, Sheilas, Dirtbags and Cougar Bait: Modern Slang

I found particularly interesting, in this year of "Joes," the part of the article listing the various types of slang "Joe-somethings." Someone I know uses the unique (as far as I know)slang term "Joe Bag-of-doughnuts" instead of the more common "Joe Schmo" or "Joe Six-pack."

This leads me to wonder, as the author states is the case with him, whether others have personal slang that is unique to their relationships.

Share in the comments!

A Perfect Example

2008-09-11T07:01:00.000-07:00

A few days (weeks?) ago I put up a post about dangling participles. Here's what Strunk and White have to say about participial phrases.
"A participial phrase at the beginning of a sentence must refer to the grammatical subject" (13).
The same holds true for a participial phrase at the end of a sentence. In other words, writers have to make sure they are actually saying what they think they are saying.
Writers breaking this rule run the risk of making themselves look ridiculous. Even the Associated Press sometimes has trouble.

SRC="http://license.icopyright.net/user/viewFreeUse.act?fuid=MTUxNjE0Ng=="
WIDTH="100%"
HEIGHT="100%"
MARGINWIDTH=10
MARGINHEIGHT=10
FRAMEBORDER="NO"
SCROLLING="YES"
STYLE="border-width:1;
border-color:#000000;
border-style:solid;"
>

Teacher OK after crashing into bear on a bicycle from Associated Press

Is the circus in town? Doesn't the headline make you wonder exactly where the bear got a bicycle in the first place?
A sentence in the body of the article is just as confusing.
The bear rolled over Litz's head, cracking his helmet, and scratched his back before scampering up a hill above the road.
So, the bear was wearing a helmet? (Always a good idea when biking, btw.) The bear's helmet scratched the biker? The bear stopped and gave himself some itch relief before scampering away? What? Aaaagh!
A great writing exercise would be to take the headline and that awfully confusing sentence and rewrite both.
For the headline: Bicylist Recovering After Crashing Into Bear.

Wouldn't that work better?

I suggest it would be best to break up the sentence: Litz's helmet cracked when the bear rolled over him. The bear also scratched Litz's back before scampering away up a hillside.

Whoops! I did it too! Litz's back didn't scamper up the hillside. See, the participial phrase describing the bear is too far away from the word bear. The "scampering up the hillside" is supposed to describe the bear, but because the noun "back" appears in the sentence after after the subject, the phrase now refers to "back" instead of "bear." Make sense?

Let's try again:
Litz's helmet cracked when the bear rolled over him. The bear also scratched Litz's back. Apparently unharmed, the bear scampered up a hillside.

Doesn't that better convey what most likely happened?

Writers have to analyze every sentence for goofs like this or we just end up looking silly and readers end up confused.

Romance Covers Redone

2008-09-02T18:12:00.000-07:00

You know it is so easy to make fun of cheesy romance novels, that I probably should not do it. I found this site, though, that just cracked me up.
Here's an example of Longmire's "re-imagined" romance novel covers:

And one more:

If you'd like to check out more, visit

Longmire Does Romance Novels

It's hard to know which is more ridiculous, the romance novel cover art or the stories. At least Longmire made the covers more interesting.

Flash Fiction Again

2008-08-19T05:33:00.000-07:00

My fondness for short fiction is no secret. My love for Flash Fiction isn't either. It is amazing to me, how a story with so few words can sometimes be nothing short of dazzling.

I'm late getting around to Flash Fiction Online again this month and found August's offerings a little disappointing.

The online magazine has had better months, but among the also-ran stories, there is one little gem. It is a re-telling of the Tortoise and the Hare,a tale rife with political undertones and a wonderfully snarky ending. Ah, the power of "everybody says so!" and partisanship.

Here's where you can find it:

The True Story of the Tortoise and the Hare

If you'd like to read the other stories, here's the link to the homepage: Flash Fiction Online

The Power of Wishing

2008-08-14T06:00:00.000-07:00

Wait, the picture is nothing to get excited about. Such a book doesn't exist--yet. It's all about thinking positively. That's "the secret," so I'm told.
Lucky for me, I have friends who were willing to share "The Secret" without charging me thirty bucks.
So, I'm making up my own little dream bulletin board. What can it hurt, right? As long as I don't try to let the bulletin board (and wishing) do all the work, maybe that little book will no longer just be an image I downloaded and used a photo-editor on, but an honest-to-goodness object I can hold in my hands.
Wish me luck!

The Wind Out of My Sails

2008-08-13T06:00:00.000-07:00

Rejected! That word is so crushing. It must be all those hard consonants.
I'm trying to get back in the writing groove after getting a story rejected. If writing is hard, getting something published sometimes feels next to impossible.
The editor was perfectly polite, saying that she liked my idea, but that the story "never caught fire" for her. This is a very polite way of saying it was boring. Yee-ouch.
I'm trying to stay positive. If my stories are getting rejected, at least it means I'm still knocking them out and sending them in.
After a rejection, I'm often left with a dilemma. Do I trash the whole thing? Revamp, ramp up the tension and action and resubmit to another publication? I'm still not sure.
For now, I'll make like the little guy in the picture, but get back to work tomorrow.

Subjects and Verbs that Don't Agree and Dangling Participles

2008-08-12T15:10:00.000-07:00

A friend recently dropped off some books for me. The pile included a small, self-published chapbook that was put together by some other people.
While I admire the effort of self-publishing, (and, let's face it, the ability to actually finish a story or two--something I'm finding increasingly difficult)the grammar and sentence structure errors in many of the stories left me twitching, groaning and rolling my eyes.
Honestly, I'm not that much of a nit-picker over grammar. Well, maybe a little. Okay, maybe a lot. In fact, my nit-picking is why I'm so slow to produce anything. I agonize over every sentence, every comma--to the point that it often interrupts the flow of my writing. The thought of submitting a piece of writing with glaring errors makes me cringe. I still don't get it all right, but I keep trying.
The main problem in this little chapbook seemed to be subject verb agreement in some sentences.
In one story the protagonist is trying to kill a giant scorpion that has invaded her house. Here's an example of where the author has an agreement problem: "Jumping over it, I reached the closet door."
Obviously, the author meant to say that she jumped over the scorpion and then reached the closet door, but instead it sounds like she jumped over the closet door.
One of my biggest no-no's is mistakenly using the dreaded dangling participle. Like this sentence: "The baby grasped the old man's pants leg with pink, chubby fingers."
I submitted a writing exercise to my instructor that contained that sentence. She got a good laugh out of it, as I remember. Naturally, I meant to say that the baby had pink, chubby fingers, not the guy's pants.
I keep that sentence in my mind every time I'm writing to make sure my participles don't dangle.
When it comes to editing, nit-picking will only get one so far. Eventually, I have to turn my stories over to someone else, asking her to please be on the look out for grammar goofs or sentences that are unclear or awkward.
An honest, knowledgeable proof-reader is a writer's best friend. Mine is.

My first LOL Cat

2008-07-19T18:48:00.000-07:00

I really, really don't know why I get such a kick out of LOL cats. I don't even own a cat. I'm allergic--severely allergic.
There's just something so expressive about a cat when it's up to something that thrusts upon me the urge to anthropomorphize what it's doing. (Heh. Plus, I get to use a big word to describe what comes over me.)
So here's my first attempt at making an LOL cat. I had to go over to my sister's house to "borrow" her kittens for the effort and take copious amounts of benadryl afterwards.

Maybe I should use the time I'm burning fiddling with Gimp2 to make LOL cats to write instead. Nah.

Drunk on Goblin Fruit

2008-05-29T05:00:00.000-07:00

I made my visit to Strange Horizons a bit late this week, but as always found a superb short story and a new poem. This week's poem by J. C. Runolfson is not to be missed, especially for writers. Runolfson's author bio led me to a link I had to share: Goblin Fruit .
The site states they publish "poetry that treats mythic, surreal, fantasy and folkloric themes, or approaches other themes in a fantastical way," and they deliver.
This is a site that begs to be devoured. I spent at least an hour there drinking in the amazing poetry in the current and back issues. As the hapless Laura says in Rossetti's Goblin Market, "I ate and ate my fill/ Yet my mouth waters still"(166-165). I'll be going back again and again, but unlike poor Laura my thirst for the Goblin Fruit won't be denied (at least as long as their website remains).
By the way, if you would like to read the original text, from which I assume the website gained its name, the poem Goblin Market by Christina Rossetti can be found here: Goblin Market .

Emily Dickinson Poetry Online

2008-05-28T06:00:00.000-07:00

So much of the world's greatest literature is only a Google search away, especially if the work is old enough to have fallen into the public domain.
I love Emily Dickinson's poetry. It is often ambiguous and sometimes even confusing, but I like that. Her poetry sparked fun debates in English class. Is she speaking metaphorically or literally or both? What is she talking about really? I suppose only the poet herself could have told us.

You can find a list of her complete works by clicking here:

Bartleby.com

I chose this poem because I like what she has to say about the lure of conformity and how the non-conformists among us may be the bravest of all.

Part One: Life

XI

MUCH madness is divinest sense
To a discerning eye;
Much sense the starkest madness.
’T is the majority
In this, as all, prevails. 5
Assent, and you are sane;
Demur,—you ’re straightway dangerous,
And handled with a chain.

When Ideas Fail, Post a Cat Pic!

2008-05-27T05:00:00.000-07:00

This just cracks me up every time I look at it.

More from "What's the Message?"

2008-05-26T05:00:00.000-07:00

The positive response I received from the first post about women's periodicals from the eighteenth century, along with a request for more from the essay, prompts today's post.

From the Essay:
Now, we didn’t simply make up a few attention-grabbing headlines and stick them on a copy of an engraving. These headlines are inspired by actual stories from some of the
eighteenth-century conduct books.

This mock-up feature headlines drawn from actual Female Spectator issues. (This one is in color, which would have been difficult to do in the eighteenth century, to say the least, but just play along here.)
From the Female Spectator Volume Three we find a long sermon against gossip. It begins: “Nothing more plainly shews a weak and degenerate Mind, than taking a Delight in whispering about every idle Story we are told, to the Prejudice of our Neighbors” (2).
Volume One of The Female Spectator ran a lengthy essay on the vital importance of young women choosing the right husband. It says “to be well convinced of the Sincerity of the Man they are about to marry is a Maxim, with great Justice, always recommended to a young lady” (13). The story goes on to describe a young woman who made a foolish, hasty choice of marriage partner with, of course disastrous consequences. Martesia, the young woman, ends up married to a man of dubious character, they drift apart and even begin to sleep in separate beds. Martesia has an affair and becomes pregnant. She attempts to conceal the pregnancy and delivers a still-born baby in secret. But the whispering began and she, in the end, had to flee England. With a sum of support from her husband, she went into “voluntary Banishment from Friends and Country, and roaming round the World in fruitless Search of that Tranquility she could not have failed enjoying at home in the Bosom of a Comfort equally beloved as loving” (Female Spectator 23).
Taking a cue from an actual essay in the Female Spectator Volume Two, we find the writer saying from the beginning “there is no one Thing more generally talked of, and so little understood, as the sin of ingratitude. All complain of it in others, but none acknowledge it in themselves” (2). The essay runs for several pages and gives many examples of how to avoid this particular sin.
Our last and perhaps most interesting headline come from Volume three of The Female Spectator. In it the writer tells a story of a woman named “Constantia” who though the seeming epitome of virtue finds that her husband is cheating on her. How does she defeat her rival and regain her husband’s affections? Easy! She retains “the most tender affection for her husband, but while the guilty pair imagined her easy and resign’d to her fate, she was continually laying Schemes to change it” (Female Spectator 33). Her scheme we find is to pretend to be sick and take to her bed. Also, luckily, it seems “heaven was pleased that she should prove with Child, which, together with her continued Sweetness of Behaviour, turn’d his Heart” (Female Spectator 41). So the remedy it appears is to be nice to your cheating husband, continue sleeping with him, pretend to be near death and eventually he’ll come around.
Women’s magazines are still blatantly telling women how to act, how to talk, how to get or keep a man and how to dress, though the most numerous items have to do with men, sex and relationships. In the November 2005 issue of Cosmopolitan we find these articles; “Boost His Body Confidence,” “Get the Affection You Desire”, “A Dinner He’ll Die For”, “How to Turn Him On Without Touching” and introduces a new sex position, naturally to keep a man interested.
Though they take a friendly tone, these women’s magazines, just like the examples we’ve seen from the eighteenth-century, still play on a woman’s insecurities and self doubts. They still seek to teach women (though admittedly the some of the lessons have changed). We didn’t find any eighteenth-century articles about how to be great in bed.
However, today’s magazines hold up near-impossible-to-achieve standards of beauty as the womanly ideal. The main focus is still about attracting, holding on to and pleasing men. These magazines tell a woman “you can’t possibly get along in the world without our advice. Listen to us. We are the modern sages. Behave as we tell you. Look like this girl. We’ll tell you how to behave in any situation. Style your hair like so and wear these clothes. It’s the only way you’ll ever be happy.”
Today’s magazines, just like the periodicals from the eighteenth century, still assume a woman needs instruction from self-styled experts in all areas of her life. That’s the message and, judging by the continuing popularity of women’s periodicals, its one women are still buying.

Works Cited:
Cosmopolitan 239.5. Dec. 2005

Female Spectator 1. The Spectator Project. CETH. 10 Nov. 2005.
<>

Female Spectator 2. The Spectator Project . CETH. 10 Nov. 2005.
.

Female Spectator 3. The Spectator Project CETH. 10 Nov. 2005.
.

The New Lady's Magazine

2008-05-24T06:00:00.000-07:00

This was a Power Point slide that was part of a group presentation for one of my college English classes. We compared the ladies' magazines of the Eighteenth Century with modern day women's mags.
The slide is a satiric representation of what the cover of an Eighteenth Century magazine might look like if the teasers for the publication were written in the breathless, urgent style of today's women's magazines.
From the Essay:

Peter Miller notes that the women’s periodicals of the eighteenth-century show “not the slightest interest … in the important social and political issues of the day” (283). Their concerns were mostly of fashion, comportment and how to attract the right kind of man and how to keep him interested. Does any of this sound familiar? Miller sums it up for us. He says “The similarity of these early ladies’ magazines to women’s periodicals today is striking” (283).

I have to chuckle every time I think about this picture, especially when I'm standing in front of the magazine racks at the local bookstore or supermarket. Who says we've come a long way, baby?

***And because I'm still an obessive-compulsive English Major at heart, here's the work cited:
Miller, Peter John. “Eighteenth-Century Periodicals for Women.” History of Education Quarterly 11.3 (1971): 279-286. JSTOR 3 Nov. 2005. .

Pictures and 1000 Words

2008-05-23T13:50:00.000-07:00

When the story idea font is seemingly running dry, I often go web-surfing for inspiring artwork. Then I try to see if I can come up with one thousand words about the picture, putting the old proverb to the test. Sometimes it works!

I found this lovely lady and her baby at photobucket.com. Now I may or may not write a story about a mermaid. Despite the title, mermaids are not really the focus of this blog.
All that aside, I love the magical and powerful, but also dream-like feeling of this piece. And those are the kinds of feelings that put me in the mood to write.

Flash Fiction Online

2008-05-17T20:06:00.000-07:00

I really love flash fiction. It's fun and fast to read. It's also incredibly difficult to write.
Flash Fiction Online publishes four terrific short, shorts every month, including "classic" flash stories. This month's edition features H.P. Lovecraft.
Check it out when you have fifteen minutes to spare.

Aberrant Dreams Poetry Find

2008-03-31T07:15:00.000-07:00

If a writer wants to publish in any sort of publication, the best thing to do first is to read the publication to find out what the editors like.
I was doing just such research at the webzine Aberrant Dreams when I stumbled across a poem I really liked--one of those that makes me say, "Oh, I wish I'd written that."
Since it also loosely fits the theme of this blog, I thought I provide a link to it just in case anyone else likes mermaid poetry.

Mermaid

How Easy to Forget

2008-03-28T06:19:00.000-07:00

I thought I was posting something yesterday that I had not put up before. I was wrong. When one goes months between blog posts, it's easy to forget what has already been posted.
I had another poem that appeared in the same issue of Spectra back in 2002 and here it is:

Elusive Muses

They come in ghostly shapes,
These storied people, dancing seductively at the edges of dreams—
Mysterious Lorelei who giggle and whisper amongst themselves tales
Of audacious abandon, of kings and paupers, lovers and fiends,
too soft to hear.

Their phantom auras, diaphanous,
yet full of throaty promise, float just beyond the edge of knowing, yielding little.
My trailing hand wafts through and pulls back a failing scent
Of refuted memory, miserable triumphs and carousing criminality
too secret to tell.

Their mocking laughter echoes
between the clumsy scratches of pen to paper. Locks of braided
bells clink and jingle as they shake their heads, shimmering with scorn
as truth is twisted by self-deception, denial or lies
too wanton to believe.

Imperious, they wait. Disgusted,
They leave. Drifting away, fluttering words as they go, scattering
seedlings of imagination, which wither and expire
even as they are scooped up and nurtured by desire
too foolish to check.

File Search

2008-03-27T07:29:00.000-07:00

I was looking through my old writing files today, looking for---I don't know what, inspiration maybe. While in the throes of writer's delay, (I'm not blocked--everything is just progressing so slowly.)it's nice to look back and say, "Okay, here's something I wrote that I liked and so did someone else."
This poem appeared in the annual literature anthology published by my university. I think it dates back to 2002, but I'd have to dig out the book to be sure.

Inflatable Man

I charged him.
With a point and a click,
He was mine
And soon delivered
In a plain brown wrapper.

I let him out,
Helped him stretch his legs.
His arms reached out and his
Head slowly lifted from his shoulder
He became fully formed—a man.

We danced that night,
My inflatable man and I.
His was the scent was of suppleness and
I knew he would never complain about
The funky jazz I like.

As I scooted across the floor
In worn, faded slippers,
His cold skin
Rubbed against mine
With pleasant, plastic farts.

Propped in the corner
Of the sofa
He waited for me,
So patiently,
In the evenings.

His frozen smile
Warmed me.
I shared Krispy Cremes
With him and used my pinkie
To wipe the frosting
From his mouth.
.
We were so happy.
I basked and flourished
Within the warmth of
His silent approval.

But then, oh, but then…

When he began to go flat,
I knew it was because
He was unreliable, selfish
And inconsiderate.

Certainly it was not because
I had been pricking
Him with pinholes
Every day.

The Grammar Doctor Is In....

2008-01-23T06:54:00.000-08:00

and it ain't me. Seriously, all writers should have command of the language they are using, but let's face it, English is a tricky language. I'd wager nearly everyone runs into a problem or has a question every now and again.

Personally, I have claimed the title of Queen of the Misplaced Comma. I sprinkle commas liberally throughout my writing, sometimes whether the sentence needs them or not. This isn't deliberate. Oftentimes, I put them in where it seems there is a natural break in the sentence and this is often wrong.

Also the words its and it's drive me nuts. Whenever it comes time to use one or the other I have to stop and think, "Okay, 'its' is the possesive, right? No, wait. One would say 'That is John's dog.' so why isn't it "it's?" Because "it's" is the contraction for "it is." Right? Aaaaaaargh!!" And on it goes.

Thankfully, there are numerous resources on which a writer can rely. I found a handy little website this morning called Dr.Grammar.org . This site is a quick-reference tool that answers basic grammar questions in a fun, memorable way. Of course, this one little page can't cover everything. The works cited list alone tells the story.
English is tricky. Use with care.

A Little Help From a Friend

2008-01-17T11:51:00.000-08:00

There are always those times when a writer gets stuck with a particular piece. I have two humor articles that have been sitting on my hard-drive unfinished for a long time. I pulled them up again and started reading. Hmmm, they had potential, but I couldn't think of anything to add.

Luckily, I have a friend who also writes humor. She's terrifically funny and she thinks I'm funny too. Naturally, I turned to her to see what she thought of my unfinished pieces.

Now, there are some writers who cringe at the thought of showing anyone a piece of work that's unfinished or in a very rough stage, but sometimes it's crucial to get feedback from someone just to make sure an old piece is worth revisiting and reworking. Not just any someone will do either. It should be someone who is familar with the writer's work, knows something about the writing process and can offer advice on what needs to be done. Someone who is just a cheerleader isn't often helpful, but neither is someone who is too judgemental. I believe a writer has to find that special person (maybe persons) who strikes the right balance between blind enthusiasm and brutal honesty.

My friend and I met up on IM and I pasted what I had into the chat window. She enjoyed the first piece and said so. I trust her when she tells me "Yes, this is good. Keep going."

I showed her the second piece and that is when our conversation really took off. It was a subject with which she could identify. (It seems we both have "brown" thumbs and can't get house plants to grow.) Before long we were trying to top each other with funny, outrageous comments--trying to get the other to laugh. It worked wonders for a piece I thought was going nowhere because I thought I'd run out of funny things to say. I copied the whole conversation and soon I'll go back, pick and choose what I think are my best lines and get going with my article again.
Better yet, my friend, who hasn't written much in the last few years, says she's been inspired to give writing a whirl again. Hurray!

Writing can sometimes be a lonely, frustrating experience. Having writing friends to turn to, who have "been there," can relieve some of the frustration---it sure helps with the lonely feelings too.

Jane Austen on Masterpiece Theater

2008-01-16T08:13:00.000-08:00

Masterpiece Theater on PBS is offering up movie adaptations of Jane Austen's novels once a week for over three months! As a Jane Austen freak, this pleases me immensely--my husband and children not so much.
I watched Persuasion last Sunday. It was a version I'd not seen before. While I enjoyed the version with Ciaran Hines much more,the Sunday night broadcast offered a decent adaptation. Of course, squeezing a novel into a ninety-minute movie means that the story is put on fast forward, and the characters are drawn in extremely broad strokes, rendering even the main characters (and certainly the minor ones) as one-dimensional. When the movie strayed away from the book, the distance it wandered was considerable. At one point I found myself jumping up from couch and shouting, "There is NO KISSING in Jane Austen!"
Still, it is always a pleasant experience to visit most any version of Austen's world. If the Masterpiece Theater series encourages anyone to pick up Austen's novels again or for the first time, that's great. Just remember, the book is always better!
Here's a link to the PBS site which has a printable PDF file for the entire Masterpiece Theater schedule:
Masterpiece Theater
Here's hoping that I can keep up with blogging. I've decided to take inspiration from my beloved Jane: "...for not being overburdened with subject (having nothing at all to say), I shall have no check on my genius from beginning to end." --letter to Cassandra, Feb. 1807.

Revenge of the Toys

2008-01-15T06:35:00.000-08:00

Now that the holidays(in all their gift-giving glory) are over, I thought it appropriate to post this article I wrote years ago when my son was little. It was published on a parenting humor website and is probably still there. I was going to dedicate this post to someone by name, but there is no need. You know who you are.

Revenge of the Toys

They scream. They wail. They make noises specifically designed to drive parents up the wall. Are they children? No. Well, not always. It’s their toys.
During the season of giving, more often than not, these toys come to us from people who themselves endure, or once endured, a house full of noisy toys they didn’t buy for their children. Share the joy. That’s what Christmas is all about isn’t it?
It’s gift-giving revenge and it’s an ugly cycle. The motto is: “Do unto others, especially if they’ve done unto you or even if they didn’t do unto you, they deserve it anyway because of what I went through.”
How else to explain my mother showing up at my house with a gigantic toy fire truck, complete with realistic siren, flashing lights and built in megaphone?
“He’ll love it! You had one almost exactly like it when you were little!” Mom exclaimed.
“Mom, he’s only four weeks old.”
“Just wait until you hear what I bring him next week!” She cackled with glee and flew out the door.
The procession of noisy gifts has been nearly endless since my son was born. It’s not just at Christmas either. Birthdays, Easter, Tuesdays-- you never know when a gift-avenging friend or relative will show up at the door.
Just recently, even my darling sister-in-law proved not to be above giving in the spirit of revenge.
“This is for Nicholas!” she said, as she pulled a miniature electric guitar out of a shopping bag. “Rick has one just like it and Nicholas played with it the entire time he stayed with us last Thursday!” She smiled lovingly at Nicholas while she showed him how to work the volume button. “I looked all over town until I found just the right one for you…er…him.”
I plugged my fingers in my ears as my son launched into one ear-blistering riff after another. “I’m really sorry you went to so much trouble. Where did Rick get his?” I shouted.
Her smile faded and, for a moment, a small gleam of hatred flared in her eyes. “You gave it to him. Don’t you remember?”
“Oh.” I said. “Heh,heh. I guess I did. But, but, that was years ago. Before I had children.”
She tilted her head, patted Nicholas on the back and her sweet smile returned. “Yes. I know.”
Granted, some toys are noisier than others, but there is one that stands out from the rest. It is the toy given only by the most diabolical of gift revengers. Famous for bringing even the most patient and indulgent parents to their knees, hands clasped to their ears, begging “Please, make it stop! Make it s-t-o-o-o-o-p!” For sheer nerve-grinding torture there is no equal to…The Popper.
Oh, it seems innocent enough at first. Just a clear plastic dome on wheels, a convenient handle, and those little plastic balls inside the dome that go “POP!” “POP!” “POP!” “POP!” “POP!” as a happy toddler barrels through the house.
The Popper is the toy voted Most Likely To Mysteriously Disappear Overnight by parents worldwide. If your child plays with it enough, it will soon seem as if those little plastic balls are bouncing around inside your skull.
I know this from experience because my older sister, has made it her mission in life to ensure that no child in our family is ever denied the pleasure of this wonderful toy. Why? Simply because her son, now 21 years old, was given one on his first birthday.
Pat doesn’t even remember who the original Popper culprit was. It doesn’t matter. She suffered. Now all others must suffer the Popper misery she knew. She feels it’s only fair.
I, of course, have never given a noisy toy to a child simply to torment his or her parents. No, no, no. My choices are always based on whether or not a toy is truly beneficial to a child’s educational and emotional development. If the toy just happens to operate one decibel level below the scream of a jet engine, it’s purely coincidental. Honest.

Getting Back On Track

2008-01-14T06:53:00.000-08:00

It has been over a month since my last post here and my fiction writing has been neglected. Having two children with birthdays in December, plus the holidays, plus various other situations meant that writing and blog-postings had to wait.
Getting side-tracked by real life is not neccessarily a bad thing for writing, unless, of course the writer gets side-tracked too long. I actually had some story ideas bubble up when I was the most distracted and busy.
It was as if while one part of my brain was busy addressing greeting cards,buying gifts and wrapping presents, the writer part was also busy in the background working out storylines and inventing characters. It's like whenever you can't recall someone's name or maybe the name of a store or restaurant you used to visit, if you just stop trying to think of it, the answer will come to you out of nowhere. Your brain is still working on the answer, you just have to give it time to access the file.
Well, my brain created some new files that have to be looked through. Now I just have to find the time to that.

w00t. Wot?

2007-12-11T17:39:00.000-08:00

As a writer and former English major, it should come to no surprise that I'm a word nerd. I have been known to pick up a dictionary, open it and start reading.
I love words--well, perhaps not all of them. Let's face it, some words are just better than others, not necessarily because of their meanings, but because they are fun to say and have a certain aesthetic appeal when written.
In no particular order, here are a few of my favorites:

opaque, gibbet, ubiquitous, paragon, quixotic, flask, ebullient, vivid...

There are more, but those are the ones that first come to mind.
Today the Merriam-Webster people announced the 2007 Word of the Year. It's w00t.
See the definition here: Word of the Year

As the mother of a pre-teen and the wife of an online gamer, I've been aware of the word for some time. Eh, it's not bad I suppose. It's nothing close to a word like illuminate or even as much fun to say as some of the runners-up. I HAD to click on the definition of "Pecksniffian." How about you? It was nice to see that one of my favorite words made the top-ten list.

Whether my favorite words make the top-ten lists or not, I'll keep using them and with my trusty dictionary by my side, I'm sure I'll also keep finding more and more favorites.
Word, nerd.

LOL Cats, I has sum 4 U!

2007-12-06T13:48:00.000-08:00

I know, I know. LOL cats are everywhere. Don't care. They're still funny. LOL

..

Falling Behind

2007-12-06T09:35:00.000-08:00

I'm falling behind on my blog posts and I promised myself I would post every day. However, since I have only a limited amount of time to write each day, (nap-time for the baby) if I'm writing on the blog very much, I'm neglecting my stories. So not posting here actually means I'm getting more fiction writing done. I'm still working on those pesky "middles."

Instead of giving myself one more thing to feel guilty about, I'll just continue to post here as the mood strikes-- while making sure that my fiction writing comes first.

In the meantime, how about a link to a writing blog with a bunch of links to writing blogs?
Free Range Librarian
kthnxbai!

In the Middle of Things

2007-12-04T06:31:00.000-08:00

The difference between fiction and reality? Fiction has to make sense.
--Tom Clancy

I have three stories going right now that are only missing one thing each---a middle. I'm happy with my beginnings and I've already written the endings. Now I just have to fill in and get the characters from point A to point Z. It's points B through Y where I run into problems.
Luckily, when these stories formed in my brain, I knew what they were about and how I wanted things to turn out. The problem is getting my story to flow logically and believably from one point to the next.
Many writing-advice gurus would suggest that I not worry about the ending and just let the stories flow organically, but that won't work for these stories. This is mainly because for one the ending felt so inevitable that I had to write it.
For now, I'll just keep muddling through the middle, because the only answer for getting over a rough patch is to just keep writing and rewriting until it all comes out right--or close enough.

Southern Funerals and Other Social Events: Put Your Good Clothes On 'Cause We're Going To A Funeral

2007-11-30T12:26:00.000-08:00

A member of my extended family is one of the funniest people I've ever met. If you want a little window into the world of "Southern," then this is surely the place.

Southern Funerals and Other Social Events: Put Your Good Clothes On 'Cause We're Going To A Funeral

Looking Down

2007-11-30T10:54:00.000-08:00

Feathered lines across the back,
A delicate puckering here and there.
Not young.
Thin, ropey veins and scrappy tendons.
Stubby fingers, short nails,
A small palm.
Life, head and love cross-hatched with
The real lines of true experience.

My grandmother’s hands--
Steady, sturdy, stubborn,
Soft, loving, forgiving--
Now, amazingly,
Attached to the ends of my wrists.

Art Fun

2007-11-29T12:23:00.000-08:00

I spent last Sunday afternoon with my fabulously talented friends, Judy and Geri. We baked Christmas cookies with our kids. While the kids were busy decorating the cookies, Judy decided to hold a spontaneous art class. The kids didn't want us to help decorate the cookies anyway.
Judy gave us canvas sheets, crayons and fabric dye. The idea was to do simplified batik art. We each drew free-form figures with the crayons, then sprinkled each canvas with fabric dye. A few squirts of water and wow! Okay, actually I threw away my first try and I wasn't crazy about my second creation either. Ah, but by the third one, I kind of had the hang of it.
I had to leave my creation at Judy's house to dry, but she's promised to bring it by soon. Maybe I'll scan it and post it here.
It was so much fun to just play with the colors and not really worry about what it was going to look like or who might see the failures. I tried to approach the project like I imagine a child would, uninhibited and only concerned with pleasing myself.
I'm hoping to try to translate that enthusiasm and feeling of freedom into my writing. It's sometimes much too easy to get bogged down and not write if I worry too much about what someone (anyone) might think of what I'm writing. It is my hope that infusing my writing with childlike enthusiasm and fun can only improve what I'm doing. We'll see.

Gothic Inspiration

2007-11-28T08:51:00.000-08:00

The finest inspiration for any writer is other writers. I keep these two passages stuck to a message board near my desk.

“Those who are neither the living or the dead; -- those dark and shadowless things that sport themselves with the reliques of the dead, and feast and love amid corruption, -- ghastly, mocking and terrific.” --Charles Robert Maturin, Melmoth the Wanderer

“No live organism can continue for long to exist sanely under conditions of absolute reality; even larks and katydids are supposed, by some, to dream. Hill House, not sane, stood by itself against its hills, holding darkness within; it had stood so for eighty years and might stand for eighty more. Within, walls continued upright, bricks met neatly, floors were firm, and doors were sensibly shut; silence lay steadily against the wood and stone of Hill House, and whatever walked there, walked alone.” --Shirley Jackson, The Haunting of Hill House

Sometimes just reading those short passages of moody prose is enough to set my imagination pattering down tunnels, blood-dark and dangerous, where fantastic beings interact (for good or ill) with mortals.
Just reading over those paragraphs changes the tone and feel of my writing. Of course, often the rewriting and editing process requires that I splash a little beige over the purple patches of the writing these passages inspire. That's fine. I'll still take the inspiration whenever I can.

Reading Online and Off

2007-11-27T08:50:00.000-08:00

I'm not in a writing mood today. I'm in a reading mood. I've started reading two novels in the last few days: Death Comes for the Archbishop by Willa Cather and Lost by Gregory Maguire. I love Cather's work and can't believe I haven't read this one already. Gregory Maguire is quickly becoming one of my favorite contemporary authors. I've already raced through his Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West, Son of a Witch, Confessions of an Ugly Step-sister, Mirror, Mirror and another short novel (though I can't recall the name and am too lazy right now to Google it). I'm sure I'll enjoy this one as much as others.
I've also been doing some reading online. I really love speculative fiction and I thought I'd share a few recent and not-so-recent discoveries. These stories are just a small sample of the wonderfully strange and imaginative stories you can find out on the web.

Fluff and Buttons on the Teddy Bear Range

Wikihistory

Mayfly

Inflatable Man

2007-11-26T10:01:00.000-08:00

I charged him.
With a point and a click,
He was mine
And soon delivered
In a plain brown wrapper.

I let him out
And helped him stretch his legs.
His arms reached out and his
Head slowly lifted from his shoulder
He became fully formed—a man.

We danced that night,
My inflatable man and I.
His was the scent was of suppleness and
I knew he would never complain about
The funky jazz I like.

As I scooted across the floor
In worn, faded slippers,
His cold skin
Rubbed against mine
With pleasant, plastic farts.

Propped in the corner
Of the sofa
He waited for me,
So patiently,
In the evenings.

His frozen smile
Warmed me.
I shared Krispy Cremes
With him and used my pinkie
To wipe the frosting
From his mouth.
.
We were so happy.
I basked and flourished
Within the warmth of
His silent approval.

But then, oh, but then…

When he began to go flat,
I knew it was because
He was unreliable, selfish
And inconsiderate.

Certainly it was not because
I had been pricking
Him with pinholes
Every day.

Lazy Recipes

2007-11-23T06:56:00.000-08:00

A few years ago a friend and I started a recipe website called Lazy Gourmets. For a couple of years all we did was search out, test and post new recipes to the site. Then life intervened and we stopped. However, the site is still up and you can still search the data base of hundreds of recipes at LazyGourmets.com
Here's one recipe that I use over and over. It's extremely versitile. I'll never buy the boxed stuff again!

Armenian Pilaf

There's no reason to go to the market to pick up a box of the "San Francisco Treat", as long as you have 4 simple ingredients in your cupboard.
1/2 cup raw spaghetti broken into 1 inch pieces
3/4 cup raw white rice
14 1/2 oz. (1 3/4 cups) any flavor broth or bouillon
2 Tbsp. butter or margarine
In medium skillet saute' broken spaghetti pieces in butter, stirring constantly, until the spaghetti begins to brown. Add rice, stirring until the rice is well coated with the butter and the spaghetti browns a little more (sound familiar so far?) Carefully pour in broth. Simmer until liquid is absorbed.
Note: You can really play with this dish to liven it up. Make Spanish rice by reducing the amount of chicken broth by a half cup and adding a can of stewed tomatoes.You can also add garlic and onions to the recipe during satueeing. Experiment!

Finding My Key

2007-11-21T06:50:00.000-08:00

Ah, my story. There it was in all its imperfect glory. The plot was there, the characters acted and reacted in credible ways, but there was something missing.
I had given my female protagonist, Jenna, an interesting background which I’d incorporated it into the story. I really thought I had the character nailed.
The male love interest was handsome, quirky and utterly appealing, but why was he interested in Jenna? She was not coming across as all that interesting. On paper, she was even a little pathetic. That wasn't how I envisioned her. Where had I gone wrong in trying to capture her character?
In desperation, I turned to my shelf of writing books. I picked up James N. Frey's The Key: How to Write Damn Good Fiction Using the Power of Myth. I had devoured the entire book in less than three days. In one portion he suggests, beyond doing the standard character profile, having a character write a journal in his or her own voice.
Thinking it could only help a story (and character) that seemed hopelessly flat, I decided to try it. I started the "journal" with the character introducing herself. What I discovered about Jenna was truly amazing. Good grief! I had her all wrong. She wasn't single, never married. She was a widow. She didn't work at a law firm. No, she worked in a library. She wasn't a stranger or new to the people in town. She had lived there all her life and knew practically everyone. The revelations continued over three pages
I completely rewrote the story and was amazed. Getting to know Jenna better and letting her lend her own voice to my writing improved the story ten-fold.
Once I stopped trying to manipulate the character to fit my carefully constructed plot, the story flowed better and Jenna ended up being a perfect match for the dreamy love interest I had invented.
Best of all, I found a technique that really worked for me. For other writers, conducting an “interview” with his or her characters is another way to dig deeper into the minds and motives of these unreal people—people who come to be very real to a writer—if the writer tries hard enough.

Shakespeare Quote Generator

2007-11-20T11:57:00.001-08:00

It is the panty hose on a mermaid,
The pantyhose on a mermaid above us, govern our conditions.

Which work of Shakespeare was the original quote from?

A Nuisance

2007-11-19T07:34:00.000-08:00

On a fine sunny day
In a field lush and wild,
She heard in soft whisper,
The fond wish of a child.

The sweet breath of innocence
Propelled her to flight
And she took to the sky
Amid squeals of delight.

Of brown pointed toe
And tufted white hair,
She danced and she twirled
In the warm, scented air.

But her journey was short
For quickly she found
She wanted only to rest
In soft, fertile ground.

Was our lady a faerie?
No, only a seed.
Now, can you see beauty
In a dandelion weed?

Time Wasters

2007-11-16T11:31:00.000-08:00

I love time-wasting video games. You should see my Sims neighborhood.
I'd probably get more writing done if I left these sites alone.
Enjoy!

Desktop Tower Defense

Pogo

Fragments

2007-11-16T08:24:00.000-08:00

When it comes to writing, there are times when I have a hard time getting started.(not news) That's when I start writing down random words. It's a useful, free-association exercise, that primes the pump and gets me in the mood to write. There are times, though, when something strange happens.
Here's an example from one of my notebooks:

flawless, futile, depend, clunk, clink, shrink..... This goes on for several lines and then something like this comes out:
Billie had the quilt pulled up over her nose. Only her brown eyes peeped out over the squares of red-gingham granny-squares. One finger picked at a moth hole in the trim.
"You just gone make that hole bigger, you keep picking at it, Billie." Jublilee said from her seat in the corner. A few of the other women murmured their agreement, others silently nodding.
"We done a lot of dreamin' in this room."
"Don't I know it, Bil. Lots of dreamin'. We was too scared to do anything else. Dreamin's safe."

What was that? I wasn't working on a story about anyone named Billie or Jubilee. It was like a tiny fragment of a story just spilled out of my pen.
When this happens, I call it pulling from the ether. This is going to sound a little schizoid, but often I think of story characters as real people, who want their story to be told. Sometimes, the character jumps up and screams and leads the writer around by the short-hairs until the thing gets written.(I've only had this happen once). Other times the characters step forward and politely invite the writer to come in and ask some questions. I call this doing the "what ifs."
So, that little scene and snippet of conversation sits in my notebook. Billie and Jubilee were not forceful at all, but they did get my attention. Maybe I'll try to expand it one day and see where Billie and Jubilee take me.
It all starts with asking...."why is Billie in bed and why are there other women in the room? Why? What if......"

Strange Horizons

2007-11-15T06:42:00.000-08:00

I'm still amazed that someone would actually pay me for writing a story. It doesn't happen often, mind you.
Strange Horizons is my favorite online speculative fiction site and not just because they paid up and posted my story "Before Paphos," but because they offer a weekly 'zine (updated every Monday) of new speculative fiction and poetry, plus reviews, essays and more. Check it out.

Strange Horizons
(Sorry, my html-fu is weak. I couldn't figure out how to link the banner without hot-linking it. Meh, this will have to do.)

Oh, and here's a link to my story there:
Before Paphos

Stick Man

2007-11-14T07:02:00.000-08:00

Below is my one attempt at writing a poem for children. It was quickly rejected by two children's magazines. I think it's cute, but probably encourages "naughtiness." That's a bad thing?

Looking For My Stick Man

I'm Looking for my stick man.
I drew him on the wall.
I went to play, then came back
And he wasn't here at all.

I'm looking for my stick man.
He's red and blue and gray.
He was right there and now he's not.
Do you think he ran away?

I'm looking for my stick man.
Do you think that he fell in
This bucket of soapy water
Right under where he'd been?

I'm looking for my stick man.
I just cannot believe
As fine a drawing such as he had been
Would simply up and leave!

Darwin's Game

2007-11-13T07:03:00.000-08:00

This poem is about a little guy who hung around our house in Califormia. I saw him regularly for three years (assuming that it was the same one.)until we moved. Yes, I know some geckos can change color, but I don't think that was the case with this fellow. I wonder how he's doing....

Observe the audacity of an albino gecko,
who dares survive among the green.
He clings to pale stucco
as if he realizes the odds.
He rests there, a shadow outline,
before scampering into the oleander,
to feast on black bugs
foolishly homesteading in white flowers
.

Old Home Place

2007-11-13T05:20:00.000-08:00

Noxious jasmine and vile honeysuckle,
in languid collusion,
slither between brick and board.

Intolerant trees claw off shingles
exposing skeleton beams,
the roof an open wound.

Built by weathered hands,
a family’s touchstone fractures
under time, elements, indifference.

Better to have burned
than this secret death
smothered by roots and brambles.

2007-11-10T19:20:00.000-08:00

Why Pantyhose on a Mermaid? Well....

2007-11-10T17:29:00.000-08:00

"Draw a crazy picture,
Write a nutty poem,
Sing a mumble-gumble song,
Whistle through your comb.
Do a loony-goony dance
'Cross the kitchen floor,
Put something silly in the world
That ain't been there before.
-Shel Silverstein