Writing Tips and Tidbits

Joe Fassler spoke with one-hundred writers asking for advice, tips for writers. Following are the suggestions (in bold) he gathered, along with the tidbits I picked up along my writing journey.

    1) Neglect everything else. We have our jobs and families, but writers need to dedicate themselves to finding time to write every day. If we look hard enough, we’ll be able to locate a pocket, a window of time allowing us to blurt out some thoughts and ideas on the white screen.

2)    Beginnings matter. It’s not only the first chapter that matters but the first sentence. Jump right in with dialogue or a problem. Flow is essential throughout the story, so why not begin the flow on the first page. If agents and publishers aren’t enthralled by page ten, your story hits the bottom of the trash can. Michael Chabon says, “the seed of the novel…was in the first sentence.”

3)    Follow the headlights. One thing I had to learn to do, which goes against the grain, is outlining. I can’t say enough about Blake Snyder’s beat sheets. But even with an outline, you still have freedom. Freedom is important because it starts painting the picture outside the headlights that may not be in your immediate plans for the story. Outside of the lights, in that freedom, theme, setting, character etc., can often be found. Andre Dubus calls this the “architecture” of our story.

4)    Sound it out. I admit I haven’t done this yet, but reading your work aloud to yourself has tremendous benefits – especially when you’re on the third, fourth, eighteenth draft. George Saunders says the “sound shows him where the energy is.” Without energy, flow, rhythm, don’t expect many sales.

5)    It’s supposed to be difficult. What else is there to say, but the magical thing about writing is no matter how difficult it is – because it’s always hard no matter how established you are – it is worth the pain, the struggle, the maddening bursts of anger.

6)    Keep a totem. Dickens, according to Fassler, had figurines spread out over his desk to keep him company while he wrote. Totems can be anything from family pictures or a favorite quote. Apparently, it can be your cat that seems to think half your desk is hers. Currently, I have a picture of my dad and me. When I turned in my last assignment for my MA, I picked it up and held it in front of me. Let’s just say it was emotional.

7)    Find the joy. Amen. If you know you are a writer, and you know you have a story to tell, but you aren’t finding the joy between throwing your laptop out the window and yelling at your tokens, then take a step back. Take time to invest in reading from experts in the field, or take a class. The key is to humble yourself and listen to what they say. And do what they say.

https://lithub.com/i-talked-to-150-writers-and-heres-the-best-advice-they-had/

Above is the link for Joe Fassler’s article, I Talked to 150 Writers and Here’s the Best Advice They Had: Joe Fassler on Seven of the Most Common Writing Tips.

Talking to Myself: Part 4

I’m sorry to say this will be our last time talking with each other.

Is it really, though? I mean, if you think about it, we spend a lot of time talking with one another.

You’re right, which reminds me how you need to work on your self-talk.

Why do you say that?

You call yourself stupid when you mess up.

Well, thankfully, I don’t mess up often.

Not funny.

It’s a little funny.

No.

You’re right. I do. But why do you care?

When you call yourself stupid, you’re calling me stupid.

I keep forgetting that.

Ready for my first question?

Go for it.

Do you think you’re strong?

Hmmm. I definitely have strong opinions.

For example?

Too many Christians don’t know how to read the Bible. What makes it worse, they don’t have the leadership, guidance and tools to teach them. For example, Jesus, many times, spoke hyperbolically when speaking with people. Do you really think heaven has streets of gold?! Are you telling me the most creative being in the universe would pave roads with gold? Please. How tacky is that?! He spoke to people who couldn’t fathom what heaven actually looks like, so he had to give them something they could understand.

Any books you would recommend?

Absolutely. Misreading Scripture with Western Eyes. Genius.

How about in other ways? Do you feel you’re strong with other things?

When I put my mind to something, I get things done. I lost forty pounds and kept it off for five years – some fluctuating with holidays. I get my daily steps in. I finished my MA program, and I am part of an amazing Slice of Life challenge that has pushed me creatively.

What are some things you wish you could set your mind to?

Playing guitar, piano, working on negative comments. I hate that I raise my voice so much. I put a lot of things off.

Me too.

Don’t get me started on what you need to work on.

Understood.

I think we can both agree we wish we were more easy-going. It’s hard not to envy people like that and how they roll with the punches; nothing bothers them. Too many things irritate me.

Maybe there’s a reason you are getting emotional about certain things. Being passive isn’t always good. Just turn the irritation into something more positive, productive.

Good point.

Last question. What is the best thing that could happen to you right now?

Easy. Money. Having enough money to walk away from teaching, buy safer cars, upgrade the entire house, take the family on vacation, pay off all debt, and still have enough for savings would be wonderful. Doesn’t renovating an old barn and turning it into a homeless shelter sound great? I’d love to buy Camp Donegal too. For now, I’ll be grateful to make it to the next paycheck – try to be as much of a light to others as possible.

Oh, I miss Camp Donegal, and yes, the barn for the homeless sounds amazing. I think great things will happen.

Me too, but –

No. I won’t allow you to say that. It will. Say it.

Great things will happen. End of story.

And end of interview.

 

 

Very Random

1)  Is it weird I still get excited by the dentist saying "no cavities"?

·  2) The cup being half empty is the optimistic viewpoint. If your goal is to consume the entire glass of water, you are halfway to completing your goal. That's a good thing.

·   3) On my way home from the dentist, I passed Kurtz Drive. This made me think about my sixth-grade Language Arts teacher, Mrs. Kurtz. I loved Mrs. Kurtz. If for no other reason, I enjoyed her class because she gave me time to write. In fact, she wrote my first rejection letter for my (cough) amazing story called "Fight for Your Right." Here's an original snippet:

 It all started in about the winter of 1981 when I was going in to town to buy a few things to snack on. On the way to the store I heard a loud bang. I walked over and looked to see what it was. It was a young boy who knoked down a trash barrel. He was about a year or two younger than me. I walked over and said "looking for anything." The boy turned around and said Uh. I saw then that the boy probably was lost for a long period of time because his clothes were all ripped and it was in the middle of the winter. I asked the boy if he was lost and he just ran away. I followed him and I ended up at a big box where lay a couple of smelly blankets. Then the boy said no but my parents left me here and forgot all about me like two years ago.

I was so proud of my story, which went on, unluckily for her, for several more pages. I asked her if it was good enough to get published. Her response was kind, but I'm sure she got a good laugh (or eye roll) out of my delusions of grandeur.

·    4) I find it ironic that Nicholas Cage is starring in a movie called, The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent.

·    5) Growing up, our trashcans did not have wheels. Did anyone's? My older brother had the brilliant idea of putting them on skateboards and rolling them out to the end of the drive. Is it too late to get a patent for wheeled trashcans? I could use the money.

·    6) I once tried pushing down on one end of the skateboard to make it pop up as Marty McFly did in Back to the Future. It popped alright. Right into my chin.

·    7) I was pulling a lot of weeds on Saturday. I met a snake. Then the snake met my spade. I don't like snakes. I slept well that night.

·    8) My dad has been in a lot of my dreams lately. He and I are always in a car, and I'm always sitting behind him, so I can't see his face. In one, we were chasing or outrunning a tornado. After that, I handed him my plate while he was switching lanes – I know, weird. The most recent one had him teaching me to use the emergency brake to turn around really fast. I don't know what to make of those dreams, but it's good to hang out with my dad again.

Ten Books Worth Looking Into

I need to give myself a little break from writing, so I’m going through my recently borrowed books on Hoopla and Libby (the former is much better). Here are eight fiction books (plus one memoir and one biography) I’ve recently read that I’d recommend to anyone:

·       The Water Keeper by Charles Martin

o   My favorite author whose stories always have a powerful theme of redemption.

·       Cardboard Gods by Josh Wilker

o   Josh tells his story of growing up using baseball cards. Genius idea.

·       Ordinary Grace by William Kent Krueger

o   From Amazon “Accident. Nature. Suicide. Murder.”

·       The Midnight Library by Matt Haig

o   Imagine a library where all the books are different realities. Your realities.

·       Fish in a Tree by Lynda Mullally Hunt

o   Great minds don’t think alike.

·       Robin by Dave Itzkoff

o    One of the most extraordinary human beings ever, Robin Williams, suffered from a terrifying disease called Lewes Dementia. A great mind literally deteriorated.

·       The Dog Stars by Peter Heller

o   Hig is one of the very few survivors of a flu pandemic. He and his dog live at an abandoned airport before a sound of hope changes everything.

·       The Remarkable Journey of Coyote Sunrise by Dan Gemeinhart

o   Dan, if you’re reading this, I want to write a screenplay adaptation. Actually, I’ll go ahead and write it, and you tell me what you think. Love this story. A father and daughter on a cross-country adventure…in a school bus. How could you not?

·       When You Reach Me by Rebecca Stead

o   How did I not know about this book?! I discovered this during one of my MA classes. Clues and time travel. What could be better?

·       Dark Matter by Blake Crouch

o   Um, Netflix? You need to read this!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Shaped and Molded

 Late last night, before finally drifting off, I began thinking about how events in my childhood have (most likely) shaped my personality – making me behave the way I do at certain times. I don’t write this to make excuses, complain, blame or make anyone feel bad. It’s just interesting – at least to me.

     Nobody picked me up after basketball practice. This was during middle school “1980-something,” long before smartphones. If I had a phone, I could have sent several different emojis – the one with a teardrop comes to mind – or a gif of an animal with sad eyes. In all honesty, I would have called and probably yelled. I was forgotten twice - devasting for a kid who wore (and sometimes still does) his heart on his sleeve.

·       I have fond memories of growing up in our church. Many relatives worshiped there, and most that weren’t related felt like family. It seemed, from a child’s perspective, a close-knit community. One family we were close to was the Eberlys. Their house was where I first watched Michael Jackson’s spectacular Thriller video. As impressive as that was, it’s not what shaped my personality. Linda was in her thirties (I think) and was taken to heaven too soon. She was the first person I knew and spent time with that was here and then wasn’t. Just like that. No warning. I couldn’t wrap my mind around it, but my heart took the most brutal hit – as did her family and all that knew her. I remember putting the dishes away the day I heard the news – my tears alone could have washed three loads – asking, through my sobs, why?

·     I hate loud noises. Any bang, clang, thump and bump immediately raises my anxiety. And I think I know why. It’s partially parental instinct because the last thing we want is our children hurt. But it has deeper roots for me. When my dad had his seizure, our entire lives changed. My one brother and I were hanging out in the basement, and Dad was giving my youngest brother a bath. Next thing we know, the freshly-cleaned brother was telling our mom that dad had fallen and wasn't moving. Here’s the strange thing; we never heard a thud, but I’m convinced it’s why loud noises are unsettling. P.S. I hate brain tumors.

·       Some memories are crystal clear, while others are faded like a favorite pair of jeans. I have a vivid memory of a time I was in the kitchen with my mom. She was washing dishes at the sink, glancing out the window when sirens roared down Route 30. I didn’t think anything of it, but I noticed she was crying. After I inquired why, she responded, “somewhere, somebody is hurt.” I have never forgotten that, and my personality (and my heart) changed that day. Whoever it was hurt and in need wasn't anyone she knew. It didn't need to be. When my girls were younger, in the spirit of my mom’s statement that day, I would tell them to say a prayer every time an ambulance rushed by, sirens blaring.

    Ever wonder what shaped you?

h

How I Wish the Big Wheels Would Keep on Turning

I read a fellow slicer’s post today, but I forgot to write her name down, so I don’t know who to give credit to for my post. She described activities she used to do but struggles to find time to do them without feeling guilty. It made me think about activities I used to do growing up I longer do – not from being too busy, but just have outgrown. For better, for worse.

5: Earl Weaver’s Baseball. We are talking floppy disk! I loved this game. It gave you options of different eras allowing you to play for teams with Ruth, Mantle or Aaron and Clemente. I mainly chose to play with the current rosters and spent hours upon hours plugging in data from all 792 cards from my1988 Topps set. As accurate as I wanted the rosters to be, I’d finagle with some of my favorite players. I believe Tony Gwynn had over twenty hits in one game while Henderson stole a base a dozen times. Those pixelated players were my heroes.

4. Basketball. I still shoot around. My oldest daughter isn’t so easy to beat anymore, but I still enjoy it. When I was younger, it gave my imagination a chance to shine. Grabbing the ball from the garage, I’d dribble our to the court, the bounces echoing throughout the forest. I’d be out there for hours playing one-on-one with myself as I pretended to be Barkley, Jordan, Webb, Wilkins, Magic etc. Often, it’d be snowing, but I kept playing. All the players felt real, and the atmosphere of being in the middle of the woods was peaceful. No annoying brothers.

3. Movies. I used to watch movies over and over again. Rocky, Star Wars, Goonies. I watched Pee Wee’s Big Adventure forty-four times before I lost track. Robin Hood (1991) nearly fifty. Back to the Future trilogy? Who knows? Now, with so many good shows to binge-watch, once is enough for me. Usually. Plus, you didn’t realize how bad some movies were back then. The pickings are much slimmer these days. My patience, too.

2. Ice Cream. I’m not talking about a couple of scoops with sprinkles. I’m talking about my post-soccer game mountain of junk where the scoops, as large as they were, still got buried by the smorgasbord of junk we had in the kitchen. I grabbed the chocolate syrup, peanuts, sprinkles, marshmallows, Oreos, pretzels, M&Ms, Lucky Charms and raisins. And never gained a pound. Today would be different. I think my scale would boycott flashing me the red digital numbers if I still did that. But, boy, what a treat!

1. Big Wheel. This was the best thing about my childhood. I remember the plastic wearing away on the wheels and the sound of gravel crunching beneath the three wheels as I went around and around, back and forth all day long. I thought there could be nothing better in life. Then the upgrade came -a hand brake on the side. Whoo-wee!

I wish I enjoyed video games (I like MarioKart, but that’s it). I wish I had more patience for movies and that ice cream piled in junk was healthy. I wouldn’t mind shooting b-ball more than I do, but man, do I wish I could still ride a Big Wheel.

Do You Understand the Words Coming Out of My Mouth?

Slice of Life: Day 23 

*With some exaggeration, but not as much as you'd think.

As much as I search for a topic for my daily slice, I’m surprised sometimes it takes me as long as it does. I mean, life with third-graders is never dull. Yesterday it was a puddle of pee in the classroom’s bathroom. To add to the fun, a child stood on a toilet and, for what I can only guess, was trying to get in touch with their inner orangutan, concluded his act by swinging from stall wall to stall wall. His performance was so fluid and graceful it made me wonder how we can’t go one day without them bumping their heads on the playground equipment, or go ten minutes without their pencil boxes crashing and exploding to the floor?

But there I was, the eleventh hour – or at least it felt like it – driving home still searching for my slice of life. I have been listening to Janet Burroway’s, Writing Fiction: A Guide to Narrative Craft, and in her section about revising, she quoted Andre Gide, a French author and recipient of the Nobel Prize for literature. He said, “Everything that needs to be said has already been said. But since no one was listening, everything must be said again.”

And a chorus of angels in their heavenly glow said, “Fear not. For this is your slice for which you have been seeking.”

It wasn’t quite that dramatic, but what a quote, right? I mean, what teacher and/or parent cannot relate to this? I think every teacher needs to have that on their tombstone or engraved on their urn. I feel I spend my whole day refraining from making the worse Jackie Chan impression and yelling, “Do you understand the words coming out of my mouth?”

I don’t think they do. It never fails. I’ll say, “Do this, then do that. When you’re finished, do this.”

Clear. As. A. Bell.

From the back, a hand goes up as if everything that was just spoken, all the words I know exited my mouth, was only in my head.

“No hands. Everything you need to know, I just told you.”

Like a contagious disease, hands from all corners of the room rise above their cute little heads. Jackie Chan is about to do an alien-burst through my gut.

Them: Can we do (this or that) when we’re finished?”

Me: Was it on my list of what you can do?

Them (every time): No, but, can we…

Me: Everything you need to know has been said, repeated, rephrased and restated.

Them: Mr. Graybill?

Me (wishing my name was Booger-Butt, so I would get some amusement from hearing my name 764 times a day.): Yeees?

Them: Should we start now?

Me: Yes, you should have already started.

Them (raising their hand): But…

Me: Please get started

Them (with a mixture of anguish, confusion and frustration on their faces): Are you going to pass out the papers?

Me (sheepish and humbled): I guess that would help, wouldn’t it.

:/

 

Talking to Myself: Part 3

Slice of Life: Day 22

Here we are, part three. How have things been since we last talked?

I finished my last class for my MA in creative writing last week. I won’t lie; it was a bit emotional turning in my final assignments. I later found out I had a perfect thousand points for the class and my cap and gown arrived over the weekend. I’m all ready for my virtual graduation.

Virtual?

I considered making the eight-hour drive to SNHU, and I suppose I still could, but it’s quite the undertaking, especially when driving isn’t my favorite thing to do.

Any reason?

I just know how quickly life can change. Or end. Some people believe when accidents and such happen, there’s a reason for it. Prime example of spiritually immature thinking. There are positive things in all situations, but there isn’t a reason for the bad things. God doesn’t kill us in car accidents or end our lives with brain tumors. It’s how earthly life comes. It’s the way it is. What about incest, murder and rape? You’re telling me an all-loving God makes that happen?

I’m not telling you. I mean, I am, because I’m you, but…well, nevermind. Anything else, or do you need a breather?

It’s been seven days since the admin at my school learned I completed my MA. Seven days and they haven’t said a single word to acknowledge it.

That’s horrible. And they are supposed to be the leaders and catalysts for building community.

Supposed to be, yes. I’m ready for a question now.

I was hoping you’d say that. What makes you smile?

Pass.

No.

No, what?

You aren’t getting out of answering it. I’ll cut you a break, though. I was going to ask you to list ten things, but how about you just name as many as you can?

Fine. As much as TimeHop makes me sad, seeing my girls from years ago brings a smile to my face. I love talking and being silly with my niece and nephew. Students making me heartfelt cards or pictures or bringing in a random gift like jellybeans is pretty special. I have a student from a couple of years ago who often reminds me I’m still her favorite teacher. When writing, there are times I’m in the groove, and I’m amazed at the ideas that come out sometimes. I’m sure there’s something wrong with me since I can’t think of anything else.

Yes, there is. But I have no idea what.

Thanks.

I think that was five, and maybe there are things that you don’t necessarily smile about, but you express joy.

Watching my oldest play basketball is an example of that. I get pretty loud when she scores.

Who’s your most dangerous enemy?

You.

Me?

Yes. You’re the one that decides to be disciplined and write. You’re the one that chooses not to forgive yourself for stupid things.

Doesn’t Satan play a role in that, too?

Of course, but he only tempts. You are the one the ultimately decides.

He is powerful, though.

Incredibly so. Spiritual warfare is no joke. It takes the wind out of your sails. Taking the joy with it.

Do you want to go deeper into that right now?

Not now.

One more question. Where do you live?

I have a feeling this is a more layered question than it sounds.

You would be correct.

One of my favorite places to live in within my novel, Grace Leads Home. With each revision, the people and the world become more alive. Real. Narnia was like that. I felt I was walking through the wardrobe. Loved it. I want nothing more to have my readers feel the same when they are with Riley, Daulton and Kerry.

Your protagonists?

Yes, they all come from some broken life, and their friendship is the heart of childhood.

Then their lives get a bit crazy.

They discover an old cabin in the middle of the woods, which turns out to be the catalyst for their alternate world adventures. Their lives are changed forever.

I can’t wait to hear more about it.

And I can’t wait to continue my revision and get an agent.

It’ll happen.

Amen to that.

 

 

 

A Funny Thought

Slice of Life: Day 21

A funny thought occurred to me today.

My third-graders have two recesses each day, during which I take laps. It's the best way to keep an eye on the students and get my daily step count. All year, more than others years (combined), I have not gone one single lap without hearing my name, a "guess what?",  a random question and/or comment, a "so-and-so is hurt," a "so-and-so is crying," or students wanting to race me or fly them to Africa. You have to love the super-randomness of children.

It's nice being so well-liked, but honestly, it's exhausting and maddening. I appreciate how comfortable they are with me and will miss those times when I can interact with them in a silly way evoking pure-hearted giggles. From them, not me. But give me one, maybe two, laps of silence. Please!

My funny thought was how I would never have considered doing any of that with my elementary school teachers. Most were standoffish, but I'd mostly want to enjoy playing kickball and chasing girls. I don't remember much before third grade, but Mrs. Phillips was my favorite. But to follow her around asking questions? No way! Especially after she made me stay inside after throwing a wet paper towel at Amy. I missed tug-of-war that day, sitting alone in the classroom as the yells and cheers flooded through the open windows. Funny to think how today, we could never get away with having a child sit alone in a classroom.

My fourth-grade teacher, Ms. McG, had a drinking problem and severely lacked a wardrobe, wearing the same blue dress (or was it was a muumuu) every day – so it seemed. The only good memory I have of her was when she gave us an hour-long recess. Along with my issues with bullies, it was a year to forget. During the same year, my principal told me to run as fast as possible into a cement pole. Thankfully he stopped me before I did. It was a rough first year in a new school. No amount of money would convince me to have a recess chat with Ms. McG.

My fifth-grade teacher, Mr. S, was tall, loud, and standoffish like Ms. McG, and my sloppy writing reminds me of his chicken-scratch. The only silver lining was he read A Wrinkle in Time - don't get me started on Disney's atrocious film version. I'd imagine a recess conversation with him - there wasn't a single one - would be as intimidating as confronting Count Olaf. Without the silly (and evil) antics.

It's sad most of my teachers weren't approachable. I struggle to teach students the importance of problem-solving without coming up to my table every time they have a question (literally a thousand times a day). Seriously, it's nearly driven me to drink some days. And I haven't touched a drop of alcohol since, well, ever. The fine line between being unapproachable and establishing a safe environment can be difficult to maneuver. But I must be doing something right since there isn't a minute where someone doesn't approach me with a question I've already answered- or has no relevance whatsoever.

 

Bloom Where You Are Planted

Slice of Life: Day 20

While the major league teams are getting their bodies in shape for a long season, I, too, am working on getting my body ready for another summer of yard work, which I enjoy. After today’s objective – starting a flower bed on the opposite side of our front walk, my body is sore from wrists to shoulders. It takes all but a minute for my muscles to tighten when I sit down. Undoubtedly, my back will feel today’s strain in the morning. Oh, well. It was a beautiful first day of spring to make the front yard a little bit more, well, beautiful.

My post is about today’s quote: Bloom where you are planted. It’s a great quote to reflect upon, although it may not be something you want to hear while you’re struggling where you are. However, it’s important to be our best selves in all situations, as all situations, with the right mentality, prepare us for whatever comes next. Opportunity knocks whether there's a door or not.

As I consider uprooting my teaching skills from elementary school to high school and eventually to college, I need to focus on the here and now – being the best version of myself, despite dealing with micro-managing. If I don’t, I may not inspire and may not be inspired. Besides, I’m not there for them. I am not and will not allow them to define me. It’s a daily challenge many of us face, but there’s a reason they’re called stepping stones and not close-your-eyes-and-take-a-running-leap-off-the-edge stones.

Little by little.

rg

Photo by istockphoto.com

What Would You Save?

Slice of Life: Day 19

Linda Sue Park's The One Thing You'd Save is a poetic, thought-provoking picture book. On the opening pages, a teacher gives her class an assignment; to think about the one thing they'd save if their home were on fire. All people and pets are safe, and the object's size is irrelevant.

My best friend, a fantastic librarian in the State College area, told me about the book this morning. It's a perfect post of our Slice of Life challenge. My friend, no doubt, is writing about the same book. I thank him for the idea because sometimes it's difficult to find a topic. My apologies for stealing his idea. 

Some of the things I wouldn't save may surprise people that know me. And I have no doubt my answer today will be different than tomorrow's and a year from now.

I wouldn't save the cross because the sacrifice and gift of grace are etched in my heart. I wouldn't save a picture of my dad because I can find photos of him somewhere else. I don't need a framed degree to be proud of my achievements, and my favorite books and memorabilia, like photographs, can be found elsewhere. U2 is on Spotify. The camera roll is in the cloud. 

There's a frame on our fireplace mantle with our home's latitude/longitude coordinates - I wouldn't save that either. A house doesn't make a home. I certainly wouldn't keep the sticker, yes, a sticker that I received after teaching twenty years. So demeaning. I'd consider the flash drive with all my stories saved. But I doubt it.

In a fire, everything you own becomes less important. In this particular fire, everyone you love is standing huddled together. Safe.

We used to huddle around the dinner table. We still do, I suppose, but it's different. If we were to look at ourselves in the past eating dinner as a family, we'd ask, "Who are those people?" I hope that is a place we can return – without the yelling, bickering and complaining. Without the…

I can't even finish the sentence. Nothing hurts more than our family's growing pains. So, the dinner table is out, and I'll let the sectional in the family room burn as well.

But if I had to save something, it'd be the sign hanging in our kitchen. It reads:

Our family

Is a circle of

Strength

And love. With

Every birth and

Every union

The circle grows

Every joy

Shared

Adds more love

Every crisis faced

Together

Makes the circle stronger

Family. Strength. Joy. Circle.

Circle. 

Circle…

It's a reminder life is cyclical; full of hills, valleys, storms, change, but complete with growth, joy and wonder.

We began this journey together on a circular path. No matter how narrow or wide the path, no matter how much we trudge along forging new trails, we are always on the circle. 

We are a circle of strength.

Grab 'em By the Bulbs

Slice of Life: Day 18

Leaving for work this morning - the full moon so bright I thought I left an outside light on - I was reminded how onion grass has invaded my yard. Their glistening stalks like frozen explosions from the underground mock and trash-talk about a complete infiltration across the lawn as their bulbs contemplate their next move.

As soon as I arrived home, my mission began. I quickly learned these nasty buggers couldn’t be yanked, tugged, or pulled by hand, mowed or weed-whacked. They’d return. They are like the Michael Myers of weeds. Winter doesn’t destroy them; chemicals do but also kill surrounding grass and flowers. You must go all-out and dig, lifting the clump from the ground. Think pulling a troll doll by its hair, and the ugly doll-toy is wearing a dirt skirt surrounded by grass you’ll never see again. Dangling from the clump were massive clumps of bulbs that looked like sperm under a microscope. Well, these swimmers have met their doom. Snip-snip with the spade.

When I left in the morning, I estimated fifty, maybe sixty.

There are now over a hundred holes in my yard, and it looks like I aerated with a jackhammer.

As many bulbs as I bagged and trashed, I know some survived – my own Isla Sorna. It won’t be long until I walk out front, and they begin exploding under my feet with their incessant mockery.

I have rambled on enough. I planned to turn this into a metaphor for breaking bad habits, whether biting our nails, gossiping, overeating, making excuses not to exercise, or belittling loved ones with our lack of love, composure, and self-control. I think you get it; sometimes, we can’t pull bad habits out of our lives. Sometimes, you have to dig deep and grab those suckers by the bulbs.

 

Top 10: Things on My Mind This Very Second

*Numbering is for dramatic effect only

10.       What do you think of when I say: jerks; pomposity; ego-on-steroids; sexism, back-stabbing; full-of-crap; and true colors that don’t paint a pretty picture? Raise your hand if you were thinking church. I am. Shameful, but true. 

9.         Money. If you were choking, what’s the one thing you’d think about? Air. When you don’t have money, it’s all you think about it. Living paycheck-to-paycheck affects everything from spending extra on food to going to the movies or buying clothes. It affects vacations (our family has NEVER had one). This leads to #8…

8.         Vacation. Every year we say we need to go somewhere. The girls are growing up and have never experienced a true family getaway. We have family in Texas and Florida and have said for years we’d make it down there someday. Nope. Hasn’t happened. Every time and I mean every time we think there’s something leftover, there isn’t.

7.         How the Sam Harry am I supposed to pay for student loans?

6.         It’s been four days since the staff at my school have learned I completed my MA course in creative writing. Many offered their congratulations saying they were proud and excited. My administration, however, has not said a single word. I don’t need to have them say anything, but it’s poor leadership. Leaders take the time to recognize personal achievements. But I know those darn multi-syllabic words like “Congratulations” may force you to schedule a time to stop by and say them.

5.         Parenting is hard. Being a father of three daughters is “hard” in an eggshell factory that’s constantly swirling, spinning and where the floor falls out beneath your feet at a moment’s notice. Scratch that. No notice. At all. Ever. I love my girls more than life, but I miss them. I miss them wanting to be around me. I miss where they absorb everything you say. I miss all of it. I’m at a loss. Timehop kills me.

4.          MA classes for writing, well, in general, involve a lot of work. Writing classes have you scribbling assignments all the time. But, thanks to Slice of Life, I’m writing more now after I finished classes than during them. This writing every day thing is exhausting. I love it!

3.         I hope my wife and girls are having a good day and everyone makes it home safely.

2.         I have way too many papers on my desk right now. I need new underwear. Why are those two things sharing a simultaneous thought?

1.         What can I plant out front this year? Out back? On the sides? How will I extend the flowerbeds? Will the trees I just planted grow? Did I put them in a good place? The fence is in bad shape. Needs replaced. So many possibilities, but then there’s #9 coming back to bite me in the rear with its drippy, venomous fangs.

Six Haiku

                                                                 

Slice of Life: Day 16

                     sky-bound moon, haunting

tempts me to touch the shadow

to the light, I turn

 

staring at my thoughts

I reel in captivation

hooked, a dream gone by

 

tormenting clockface

bare toes gripping the beach

sunset over waves

 

 brown crinkling photos

a frost-bitten memory

recoils in fruitless efforts

 

dewdrops in garden

scarecrow limps from the wire

daffodils blooming

 

dreams woven throughout

gathered on a shady hill

the scent of time spent

 

Talking to Myself: Part 2

Slice of Life: Day 15

Thank you for sitting down with me again.

You sit, I sit. Know what I mean? I’m teasing. It’s a pleasure answering questions, although not always the case being us. Would you agree?

I thought I was asking the questions, but yes, I agree. We have our uphill battles.

For sure. I believe we are always heading into a storm, in the middle of one or leaving. It’s just how our world works. It’s not a pessimistic attitude but rather realistic.

The ultimate and most significant reality being we’re never alone no matter where we are.

Exactly.

May I ask some questions now?

Let’s do this. I do want to reiterate, in regards to our last conversation, I do not hate anyone. My words don’t always match my heart. I suffer from what you call KJR syndrome.

Seeing that we are the same person, I should probably know what that is.

Knee-jerk-reaction syndrome. I need to work on pausing before speaking sometimes.

I get it. We’ve both been guilty of sending strongly-worded emails.

Not our proudest moments.

We apologized.

Yes, but one of the worse things taught is “forgive and forget.” It takes the one main component out of the equation.

What’s that?

We’re human. We aren’t programmed to forget at the drop of a hat. But we have a responsibility not to hold a grudge.

How easily do you forgive yourself when it comes to your transgressions? Do you hold a grudge against yourself?

I don’t forgive myself, and I certainly don’t forget my wrongdoings. It’s a daily battle.

May I be blunt? I want to throw some KJR syndrome your way.

In the words of Rocky, “Go for it.”

You need to work on your Sly impression.

Noted.

Anyway. Dude! You have to let things go. The weight you carry that comes with not forgiving yourself affects stress and probably a whole lot more.

I know. I’ll work on it. Maybe as part of the healing process, I could create a character who deals with the same thing – showing the effects it has on relationships and personal growth.

Write what you know.

That’s also something that shouldn’t be taught. If you live by – or write by – that philosophy, you’re cutting yourself short and abandoning many potential stories and ideas. Yeah, that’s pretty much garbage. I forget who said it, some famous writer, but he said, “I write the experiences I never had.” The key is to put yourself and your experiences into what you’re writing and NOT only write what you know. Besides, I love researching. I did a lot on Pearl Harbor for my Grace Leads Home.

Right. You blended in your Grandpa’s experiences before and during the war.

I recorded an interview with him once. I was over having lunch with him, pushed record and just let him talk. I loved it.

I miss him.

Me too.

I have not asked one single question from my list yet. So, I’m going to now. What was your childhood dream? And if you could go back in time and tell yourself to change it, would you?

Not a chance. In Kindergarten, I wanted to be a farmer. In first, a racecar driver. After that, for a long time, I only wanted to be a baseball player.

Which, if you don’t mind me saying, you came nowhere close to becoming.

Ouch. Still, I wouldn’t change it because that dream was real to me. It was going to happen. There isn’t a better feeling than a dream you truly believe in.

Not to kill a dead horse, but you didn’t make it. Aren’t you disappointed?

I love baseball. I love walking out under the lights, and there’s nothing more exhilarating than sliding headfirst and running down flies. But, no, not disappointed. I grew, adjusted, adapted and fell in love with a new dream, the one God gave me.

So, you “grew, adjusted, adapted,” which leads me to believe you can do the same and start forgiving yourself for the stupid things you’ve done.

To Shea

Did you just say “to Shea” as in the Mets old stadium?

Yeah, why? Isn’t that the expression?

Not even close.

I think you’re wrong. I’m pretty sure it’s to Shea.

Forgetting that for now, one last question. How often do you laugh?

Since Robin Williams died, not nearly enough. I think I have a good sense of humor, but I’m not one to bust out laughing. I remember my friend Troy and I pictured all of our teachers with Don King haircuts. I literally rolled on the floor. I think I know why I don't laugh as much as I should. At least partially.

Please share.

On the night my dad had his seizure, which would lead to a brain tumor diagnosis, my brother and I were getting along, laughing, making home movies or something, and then our whole world flipped, crumbled and shattered all at the same time. Honestly, I think I’m afraid of feeling good because I worry something bad will steal that feeling from me.

That makes sense, but we were created to enjoy life despite the guaranteed battles. Think about what you’re not giving the world because of your fear.

Thank you. I’ll think about that.

Think about looking up the word, touche while you’re at it.

I will, but you’re going to look pretty foolish.

I look forward to part three.

Me too.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Keeping in the Spirit of Keeping in the Spirit

Slice of Life: Day 14

I’ve been listening to William Zinsser’s On Writing Well. Today he mentioned the importance of brevity. In that spirit, here is my post for today:

Parenting is hard.

I’ll see you tomorrow,

rg

P.S. In keeping with the spirit of keeping in the spirit (sorry, William), I don’t want to disrespect our March challenge. So, I will write a second post. But in actuality, I feel it will be one of the longest post-scripts you’ve ever read – or considered reading. Or looked at by accident before exiting my blog.

No hard feelings. For now.

I enjoy questions asking to ponder the past. We’re all a product of our choices, and sometimes a trip (or fall) down memory lane reveals why we are who we are. Sometimes, it gives us a greater appreciation for the people composed of the memory. They may even extract fun arguments because we all seem to remember the same incidences in different ways. For example, my brothers and I disagree whether or not I, who was in a hurry to get somewhere, kicked in the garage door on a Thursday, which may or may not have prompted my mom to call the police.

The incident in question did not happen. At all. On a Thursday. It happened on a Friday. However, we agree that it was on a Sunday when my mom picked me up from my weekend trip when she shared the delightful news the Lancaster police were at our house. It was the same Sunday I told her it was me and not a burglar and that I may or may not have kicked a second door in solidifying the decision to call the local authorities. See? Good times.

Along with novels, short stories and screenplays, one goal is to write a memoir. Similar in style to Stephen King’s On Writing, I’d like to use my childhood memories as examples to teach writing. I have learned a lot during my MA program. I’m a teacher at heart, so this endeavor only makes sense. It needs to stand apart from other books – whether it garners any sales or not. Josh Wilker wrote a brilliant and funny memoir relating baseball cards to his life growing up. Such a great idea. I wish I had thought of it.

My list names all of the moments that I believe inspired my journey as a writer. Christoper Vogler already has a book called, The Writer’s Journey, so, in keeping with the spirit of keeping with the spirit, I will name my book, The Journey’s Writer.

I have gotten off track of what I wanted to write about for this post-script. I wanted to share a list of questions to ask yourself to recall childhood memories, believing they are beneficial for memoirs, so-called writer’s block and character depth for fictional stories – something my memoir would explain further.

I’ll save those for another post but will conclude by sharing some of the moments that put me on a writer’s path. Again, I will use another post to delve into the details.

·      The Wizard of Oz – It played once a year. It started at 8 and ended at 11. Staying up late was never more fun. And frightening.

·       Back to the Future – Dude! I was nine in 1985, so I know I didn’t understand everything. I didn’t need to. All I had to know is the DeLorean was a freaking fantastic time machine, and Marty almost got stuck in the past. An element of time travel, like cabins, often emerges in my stories.

·   A Christmas Carol – I watched the 1984 version with George C. Scott every year. It was my first experience witnessing the ever-necessary element of character change in a story.

·      Paul Harvey – No explanation needed. You know (the rest of) the story.

More to come. Thank you for reading.

Dream Out Loud,

rg

 

Life of a Writer

 

Slice of Life: Day 13

What are you doing?

            Cleaning out my desk drawers, why?

Shouldn’t you be writing?

            They’re messy.

Right. What? Is there a pencil facing the wrong way?

            Are you making fun of me for being organized?

Is that what you call it?

            Even neat drawers need organized.

That makes no sense. You know what you’re doing, don’t you? You’re procr-

            No, I’m not. I’m simply doing things that need to be done.

(shuffling of papers)

What are you doing know?

            Bills don’t pay themselves.

Bills. Right. You have an idea for a story, but you’d rather pay the bills? And actually, they do pay themselves. It’s called aut-

            I know what it’s called, but I want to make sure.

(beep)

Where are you going now?

            Dishwasher’s done.

You have three girls to do that.

            It’s easier if I do it. Less complaining.

Right.

(loud buzz)

Let me guess. Laundry.

            Like the bills, they don’t fold themselves.

Like I said before, you have three daughters.

            They need to be folded the right way.

How’s the writing going?

            I’ll get to it.

After laundry?

            Of course. I want to write, so why wouldn’t I write?

(basement door opens)

            Before you ask, litter box needs cleaned out.

Of course. Cleansing the air before sitting down to write.

            You’re catching on. It’s not that I don’t want to write. I do. But things need done.

What are you going to do when you have a deadline?

            You’re looking at it. I like thing neat and tidy and clean before I write.

You mean you like to procras-

            That’s not what I’m doing. I simply think of something else that needs to be done.

(door opens and closes)

Where are you going now?

            I need to plant some seeds, sweep out the garage, prune, cut wood, scrub the pool.

You need to do all that now? Like, right now? Not after you finish writing?

            I like keeping busy.

You like work avoidance.

            Why would I avoid something I love to do? That’s doesn’t make any sense.

(fluffing of pillow)

You’re taking a nap?

            I’m tired. Didn’t you just see everything I did?

(Sigh)

One hour later…

Ready to write?

            What time is it?

Hours and hours since you first sat down to write.

            I should probably eat something.

You should probably get your writing finished. It’s important to write every day.

(rummaging in the laundry room)

More laundry already?

            No, I need to clean.

You’re going to clean? Now?

            Showers need scrubbed.

Congratulations.

            For what?

You are truly a writer.