Bull Thistle

It’s May and I’m in May-gardening fever. Raspberry plants, blueberry plants. A new climbing rose. Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme. A pretty perennial with heart-shaped blossoms. Petunias (it’s not summer without petunias). I’m even considering purchasing yet another rose: a dark, mysterious, purple beauty.

Once on the Cape, I picked up a little plastic leaflet thing with “Massachusetts Trees & Wildflowers.” It sits like an accordion on the same shelf as my “Cape Cod Seashore Life” plastic leaflet, a blue goddess candle from San Francisco and a lucky tassel from China. I think some of the specimens mentioned could be easily used as character names in fiction, such as

Bull Thistle

Stinking Benjamin

Rose Pogonia

Trembling Aspen

Black-eyed Susan

Daisy Fleabane

Wild Indigo

Virginia Spiderwort

Pearly Everlasting

Are you in gardening fever? Writing fever? Hope all is well with you. In conclusion, the dark, purple, mysterious beauty. I think I must buy her. And call her, what? Purple Rain? Purple Princess?

Becoming O’Keeffe

I’m enjoying this charming little book you see to your left. I’m not sure I’d really want to become O’Keeffe, which would require wearing long black dresses and walking miles under the hot New Mexico sun every day without sunscreen… But I really admire how she bucked social conventions and did as she pleased.

What writer wouldn’t love to be able to say (from the book’s chapter subtitles): I don’t see why we ever think of what others think of what we do – isn’t it enough just to express yourself.

Or: Flattery and criticism go down the same drain and I am quite free.

I don’t know if she truly didn’t care what people thought. Only Georgia knows…

Still, these quotes can inspire us to stay grounded in our own visions. Lets write what we want, the way we want to do it. And if this isn’t inspiring enough, read Beth K. Vogt’s guest post Unhitch Your Wagon from the Stars on abandoning the pursuit of approval and putting reviews (and little stars) into perspective.

Hope you’re all doing well. Happy writing.

Belated St. Patrick’s Day and Dead Calm

Well, I’ve been so busy I didn’t even notice St. Patrick’s Day approaching with its green beer and T-shirts. Somehow, in my mind, I’m still somewhere in the middle of February (except it’s a lot warmer). I hope you had a good time and were able to squeeze in a little Irish step dancing between your writing sessions. And if you haven’t been to Ireland yet, you really must go. Here, a cheerful photo from my trip last August (with thanks to photographer, Uadler):

Speaking of tombstones, I’d also like to give huge (belated) congratulations to fellow Dead Calm authors, Mary E. Stibal and Adam Renn Olenn, for both placing as finalists for Best Short Story for the Derringer awards. That’s incredibly awesome and I hope one of them wins.

So if you had any doubts as to whether this anthology is worth getting your hot little hands on, doubt no more.

And if you have any great advice for getting back on the writing track after work/events have temporarily intruded, do share.

Update: People are having trouble commenting. I’m sorry about that. Have contacted WordPress and hope the issue is resolved soon (maybe it is already).

Waiting for spring

I took these photos a couple of weeks ago when we were blasted with Siberian cold. Having grown up in New England I’m certainly no wimp when it comes to chilly weather, but this was cheek-stinging, tear-inducing, mind-stunning cold.

I’m glad it’s over. The ice has broken and is melting. Thank goodness.

I’m not a winter person but I will say that I do write the most in winter. How about you? What’s your best season for writing?

Are you waiting for spring? (Silly question.)

On light

Last year, Leslie Rose had some great posts on an element of setting I’d never consciously considered: light (her posts are here and here). Leslie has a background in theatre that, I’m sure, benefits her writing.

Light doesn’t always have to be mentioned directly, of course. White, airy curtains will give a different impression than sagging, Poe-esque drapes. Maybe the light plays on the face of a character, revealing cruelty or tenderness.

Here are some examples of light I just found:

“The windows of the tall buildings uptown flashed amber and bronze. A fat pink-stained cloud, its every billow and furl distinct as carved ivory, hung soaking up the last light over Brooklyn.” (Michael Cunningham, A Home at the End of the World)

“…and softly beyond the twilit door the twilight-colored smell of honeysuckle.” (William Faulkner, The Sound and the Fury)

“Because it had rained and the rain had caught the black soot of the factories as they burned, Paris in the dark seemed covered by a dusky skin, almost as though it were living.” (Lauren Groff, “Delicate Edible Birds”)

“The fence posts on the margins of the fields glinted like burnished pins, the thick light plated his face with a coppery mask.” (Annie Proulx, Postcards)

“The living room contained ten shades of red, including shrimp walls, Chinese red carpeting, and a wing chair upholstered in pink chintz with a large floral pattern. It was like sitting in the middle of a bowl of cherry Jell-O…” (Marion Meade, Dorothy Parker: What Fresh Hell Is This?)

Mysterious Cape Cod light as captured by traveling companion Uadler

“It meant that on an evening so calm, so iridescently blue, so full of the chink and chafe of insects and fat old dogs dragging their chains and belling in the neighbors’ dooryards—in such a boundless and luminous evening, we would feel our proximity with our finer senses.” (Marilynne Robinson, Housekeeping)

Have a great weekend, everyone. Happy writing.

Here we go again

Wow. A new year. Seems like two seconds ago I published this post. It’s the fashion to not make resolutions as we will only break them anyway. But I refuse to engage in such pessimism. Here are my writing resolutions for 2012 – I hope it will be a good year for everyone:

• Put writing first. Literally. I used to be a night-writer, from 9 p.m. to around 2 a.m. Can’t seem to do this anymore. Morning is best. It’s serene, fresh and usually quiet.
• Submit more (and faster). I have two finished stories ready to be shot out of the circus cannon. So what am I waiting for?
• Reserve blogs/Facebook to a specific hour per day. I’m already having trouble with this one. But, still, it’s a worthy resolution.
• Post here with more regularity: going to strive for every two weeks on a Thurs./Fri. This is realistic.
• Listen to others. Talk about other things besides writing.
• Give praise where it’s due. A few kind, supportive words might stop a ‘zine from closing, a project from ending, or a writer from despairing etc.
• Cut myself more slack, too. Be more forgiving.

So that’s what I hope is ahead – a compassionate yet determined/focused year.

I wish you all the very best for 2012. This year will be exciting, I’m sure of it. Perhaps it will even be magical.

Happy holidays

This is a great stocking stuffer for any writer. It’s small and well suited for nightly bouts of insomnia. It’s full of advice and words of wisdom, such as Status, worry, and comparison are ways to madness, not victory and Whining will not help you win the battle for publication. The tone is friendly and encouraging. It’s like your own little red cheerleader. I love it.

Should you hanker for a refreshing beverage over the holidays, I can recommend the Fab Housewife’s Partridge in a Pear Tree or Lola Sharp’s Grinch Punch.

And because I love Charlie Brown, I have to reproduce Lola’s post picture here:

  Merry Christmas to all the Charlie Browns…

Thank you for stopping by Only Time Will Tell in 2011. It was, I think, a pretty good year. Thanks for your comments and interesting insights. Thanks for your entertaining blog posts.

“See” you in 2012!