Write on Wednesday-Dream Works

Last night in my dreams, a writing angel haunted me. Really. In a strange, exciting, miraculous sort of way, I was awakened at 4:30 am with a virtual cacophony of sentences erupting in my head. Paragraphs in fact, spinning themselves out as if my mind were a blank computer screen and someone else was doing the typing.

"Wait," I shouted at myself. "Slow down - I'll never remember all this!" And it was cold last night, I was cold, I hadn't remembered to get my blanket out of the storage box in the basement. I was huddled in bed, curled into in fetal position, surrounded by small dogs who were also cold. I was cursing myself because, of all the dozens of notebooks and pens in this house, there wasn't one of them in my bedroom this morning at 4:30 a.m. And the words, the sentences, some very good sentences, just kept pouring into my semi-conscious head.

Here's the back story...I've been thinking about NaNoWriMo, you know the November madness where some of us who are crazy enough to submit ourselves to 30 days of insane writing torture, sign on to complete a 50,000 word novel during the four weeks of November. So, I've been thinking about two ideas - actually, I've had these ideas in my mind since last November. One of them is, I think, a really good idea for a novel. But I'm not kidding myself - it's not an easy idea. It would really require lots of research even to do a half-assed sort of job. And it's such a good idea (did I say that already?) that I don't want to waste it by not being ready for it. You know what I mean?

But that writing dream, well, it was all about this novel. It was just ideas on top of ideas, flooding into my brain at 4:30 in the morning. It was sentences, and names, and dialogue even. I think the genesis for this visitation arose from the post I read yesterday in Not For Robots, Laini Taylors blog about writing. Here's what she wrote in her first post:

"You want to write a novel. You have a seed. Perhaps you have a character name, an idea of the setting, and a vague sense of what it’s “about.” A good place to start “brainstorming” is just by freewriting everything you know about your idea so far. Don’t worry at all about the “writing” at this phase, about your prose or sentence structure or having the perfect name for your character. Doesn’t matter. This is just about getting ideas out. Every possible idea, even ones that flitter through your head and you’re pretty sure you won’t use. Go ahead and write them down and give them an opportunity to explain themselves. If it came to mind, there’s a chance there’s something in it you can use. At this stage, do not discriminate. Think of it like the auditions for American Idol. You have to listen to the terrible singers -- you have to listen to all the singers -- to ferret out the tiny handful of good ones."

Well, I wrestled with this dream weaver until it was time to get up - finally I managed to drag my cold and rusty bones out of bed, find the notebook I've already started for this book, and try to capture some of those crazy words and ideas.

I went to the library, and started poking around with some background research. But there is just so much I need to know for this book. Laini knew I'd make that discovery too. "As you’re writing down everything you know about the story, you’ll start to see how much you don’t know," she wrote. I sure did, and there's plenty. Frankly, I'm scared.

I think it's too big for me.

Even in my wildest dreams. How about you? Have you ever been visited by a writing angel? Have you had a writing (or other creative) project you really wanted to do, but were afraid of?

Writer's Island - The Gift

"Everyone is gifted - but some people never open their package." Unknown

Gifts - what else can I write about, except the abundance of them in my life? Anything less seems churlish and ungrateful, as if I'm embarrassed by the surfeit of riches piled in this package I've been opening for the past 51 years. A family that cherishes me, a husband who supports me in every possible way, a son who has grown up well and strong with a family of his own to love ~ a wealth of gifts indeed.

In truth, I wonder sometimes whether I deserve them when the world around me is rife with suffering and want. How-and why-have I been so "gifted"? And I try to remain properly grateful, in the hopes that my acknowledgement of good fortune will keep me safely encsonced in its favor a just a while longer.

Of all my good gifts, perhaps the one that is most key, most valuable and cherished, is the gift of my mind, my memory, my ability to read and write and reflect. It is this particular package that I open so gratefully each time I turn the pages of a book, sit at the piano to play, pick up a pen to write, open my mouth to speak. Because I have seen first hand what it means to lose this gift, in this terrible stealthy disease that's sweeping the nation and robbing thousands of people each day of their memories and thoughts.

"A mind is a terrible thing to waste." This slogan for the National Negro College Fund bears truth for the entire human race. "Of all the things I've lost, I miss my mind the most," is another humorous version, seen on greeting cards and refrigerator magnets. It brings a smile, but, in reality it is far from funny.

The gift of thought- it's priceless. I hope I'm putting mine to good use.

For more on gifts, go here

One Deep Breath-Recipe

southern style big boys~

pluck from the vine, slice thinly

sprinkle with sugar and salt

Every summer, my wonderful neighbor shares the bounty from his tomato patch. A couple of times a week, he crosses the street, large paper sack in hand, filled with tomatoes, peppers, and cucumbers for me. He always has a pocket full of Magic and Molly's favorite biscuits as well. We have a nice chat, and then I slice up a plate of warm tomatoes, and sprinkle them with sugar and salt, just the way my grandma did. Yum :)

Encyclopedia of Me Monday: F is for Friends

As an only child, I take my friendships pretty seriously. My closest friends become the siblings I will never have, and so I'm grateful for their willingness to share life's vicissitudes with me.Unlike siblings, however, friendships tend to come and go, don't they? Right now, I have a core group of three or four "fristers," women I have been through the fire with in one way or another, and women I know I can hail when the flames start licking at my feet. But, twenty years ago, my inner circle was comprised of completely different women. For various reasons, these women have disappeared from my life. With one exception, my best friends right now are all significantly older than I. With no exceptions, my relationship with each one developed through music, and each one I considered a mentor before I considered them a friend. Sometimes I wonder what that says about me. Often, I feel that I get more than I give from our relationships. These women are strong, independent, and talented. And, for some reason, they have swooped me under their wing, nurtured my talents, and encouraged me to cultivate my abilities. How lucky am I? My friend Leigh, at 41 years of age, the youngest of my BFF's, recently gave birth to her second child. When she told me she was pregnant, she said, "I kept thinking about what you once told me -that one of your biggest regrets in life was having only one child. And I thought I'd better do something about that before it was too late for me."Wow. That was pretty huge for me, to think that my experience could have made such an impact on another woman's life. Reflecting on that, and on all that I've gained from my relationships with each of these women, I feel humbled by the power of friendship, of what we can give to each other, often without even realizing it. And I also feel a little frightened, knowing that sometimes friendships are vulnerable to loss for all kinds of reasons. Time, distance, illness - all of these can stretch the bonds of friendships, until they eventually break and fade away.

As I age, my hope is to one day influence the life of a younger woman in the way my friends have influenced me - to be a source of inspiration as well as companionship, an educator as well as a buddy, someone to respect and admire as well as someone to gossip and giggle with.

Friends. A good entry to have in the Encyclopedia of Me.

Sunday Scribblings-Collector

A few years ago, my handbell group did a concert in northern Michigan. Our host for the event invited us to a reception at his home, a lovely old farmhouse overlooking one of the lakes. Inside, he proudly took us on a tour of his massive collection of fruit jars. Over 800 of them, each one individually displayed in custom built shelving that surrounded the walls in nearly every room, each one lovingly labeled with its name, date of origin, and place of purchase, some of them dating back as far as pre-Civil War times. I had no idea there were so many different kinds of fruit jars, or that people collected them with such fervor - there are apparently nation wide collectors conferences, swap meets, and contests. Who knew?Personally, I'm a haphazard collector, at best. Early in my married life, I desultorily collected teapots, and then toyed with the idea of collecting antique sugar bowls and cream pitchers. I received a few pieces of Waterford crystal as wedding gifts, but the cost prohibited me from collecting many more. I guess I get bored with things after a while - they lose their luster rather quickly, especially the kinds of things I have to dust! I could never in a million years muster the enthusiasm to collect nearly 1000 fruit jars. Truthfully, the older I get, the less interested I am in "things" of any kind. With the exception of books (which I suppose I've been collecting since I could toddle into the bookstore), I have little interest in material possessions anymore.

However, I am passionate about collecting experiences. Like the feeling of euphoria after a good performance, or the magical feeling I get when the perfect words seem to flow from my fingertips. Sharing a special meal with family and friends, or Jim and I laughing until we cry at some cute trick the dogs are doing. Walking through the park on a cool, fall evening, or driving down a country road with the wind blowing in my hair. Sleeping late on a rainy morning, curling up with a good book on a chilly night.

And, like most collectors, I'm searching for some particularly rare and precious moments to add to my collection. A month spent in the French countryside, a novel completed and published, a newborn grand-baby to hold in my arms.

Perhaps I'm not such a haphazard collector after all. Even though my collection can't be displayed on a shelf or catalogued in a computer file, it can't be bought by the highest bidder, or win any blue ribboned prize, it will live in my memory and heart for all time.

What could be more valuable than that?