Susan Buffum's Blog: Welcome to My World, page 15
October 9, 2016
What Do Authors Talk About When Texting One Another?
I have a small circle of writers/authors I keep in touch with. Two corresponds with me via email and one I chat with fairly frequently via facebook messaging.
What do we talk about? This morning it was weather. It was raining to beat the band here and breezy as the dregs of Hurricane Matthew brushed against the northeast coast. We're inland so just had slow steady rain, with an occasional downpour. Northern VT had clouds but no rain, and was cool. We also talked a little politics, something neither one of us cares too much for but we do share a deep concern about the decline of integrity and decency in this country. This was interrupted by John coming home and my needing to help carry in groceries so we kicked our soapboxes aside to get back to family stuff.
This afternoon it was cooking. I can cook but seldom get a chance to as my husband has cooked for us since we got married. I do the baking. My author friend is not much of a cook. He'd sent me an autobiographical book the other day. I started reading it this afternoon. He wants my opinion when I'm through reading it. I'll send him this year's Halloween story in return. (My brother read it tonight and it spooked him! Ha! Good! Big sisters love to creep out little brothers!)
Often we send encouraging messages to one another because there is no one better suited to talking a writer through pre-event jitters than another author. I'm fortunate to have a terrific support group in the literary realm. (My husband lugged boxes of books for me once to an event and hasn't volunteered since. My daughter has her own things to do. And all my regular friends have busy lives with their families and aren't around when I need them.) So, it's my little circle of author friends I have come to rely on most to shore me up when confidence erodes.
We also talk about what we're currently working on, and future projects we'd like to tackle.
And sometimes it's stuff like my cat being sick, a black bear in the neighborhood, a fox trotting across the back yard, a black squirrel sitting in the thorny (and by thorns I mean three inch spikes!) hawthorn tree eating berries...the things we see in our day to day lives that might provide inspiration for a future scene in a story.
Whatever we discuss it's a nice break from the ordinary. And to me, it doesn't matter what we talk about because it's just great to talk to someone who understands what it's like to write when one's family members don't really have a clue.
What do we talk about? This morning it was weather. It was raining to beat the band here and breezy as the dregs of Hurricane Matthew brushed against the northeast coast. We're inland so just had slow steady rain, with an occasional downpour. Northern VT had clouds but no rain, and was cool. We also talked a little politics, something neither one of us cares too much for but we do share a deep concern about the decline of integrity and decency in this country. This was interrupted by John coming home and my needing to help carry in groceries so we kicked our soapboxes aside to get back to family stuff.
This afternoon it was cooking. I can cook but seldom get a chance to as my husband has cooked for us since we got married. I do the baking. My author friend is not much of a cook. He'd sent me an autobiographical book the other day. I started reading it this afternoon. He wants my opinion when I'm through reading it. I'll send him this year's Halloween story in return. (My brother read it tonight and it spooked him! Ha! Good! Big sisters love to creep out little brothers!)
Often we send encouraging messages to one another because there is no one better suited to talking a writer through pre-event jitters than another author. I'm fortunate to have a terrific support group in the literary realm. (My husband lugged boxes of books for me once to an event and hasn't volunteered since. My daughter has her own things to do. And all my regular friends have busy lives with their families and aren't around when I need them.) So, it's my little circle of author friends I have come to rely on most to shore me up when confidence erodes.
We also talk about what we're currently working on, and future projects we'd like to tackle.
And sometimes it's stuff like my cat being sick, a black bear in the neighborhood, a fox trotting across the back yard, a black squirrel sitting in the thorny (and by thorns I mean three inch spikes!) hawthorn tree eating berries...the things we see in our day to day lives that might provide inspiration for a future scene in a story.
Whatever we discuss it's a nice break from the ordinary. And to me, it doesn't matter what we talk about because it's just great to talk to someone who understands what it's like to write when one's family members don't really have a clue.
October 8, 2016
I Can Laugh ABout it Now
Today was my author event here in town at our local indie book shop. I've been preparing for this for two weeks.
Grimace # 1 was having a precancerous spot burned off my right cheek with liquid nitrogen this past Wednesday. It left a round, scabbed spot about the size of the head of the Q-Tip she used to apply the liquid nitrogen (three times!) with. So, I had to appear with a prominent scab on my cheek.
Grimace #2 was that I stopped at Andy's Variety on my way downtown to grab a bottle of water. While there I also bought a roll of wild cherry Lifesavers to suck on to keep my mouth moist. I take medication that gives me dry mouth so when I do a lot of talking I start coughing. I thought I was well prepared.
Well, I drank some water and sucked on two Lifesavers prior to the event. I guess I also licked my lips to moisten them a few times.
I spoke, I read, I discussed and answered questions, I talked face to face with people and stayed to talk ghosts with a family that had attended, Jessica, and Russell (who recorded the whole event on video).
I packed up what I was taking home, went out, jumped in my car, pulled down the visor, slid the door open on the mirror. The light popped on and I looked to see how horrible my hair looked- but what caught my eye were my BLOOD RED lips and what looked like a clot of blood at the corner of my mouth! Holy crap! The Lifesavers had colored my tongue blood red, and I had then licked my lips coloring them blood red!!
I arrived home, told my husband it had been a great event. And then I told him the red lips story. He said, "Well, you are Miss Peculiar. Maybe they'll think it was fake blood you used to give yourself a ghoul-girl appearance."
At the event one of the questions asked was if I had ever written anything outside of my comfort zone. I had answered that yes, I had written my first horror story a couple weeks ago, but I could not bring myself to read it. I explained it was about a boy who harbors a monster within him. He starts out eating flies at age four, and gradually progresses to eating mice, rats, cats, raccoons, dogs...and then when he's in his twenties he kills a girl he picks up on the street and partially devours her. Looking at himself in the mirror after he's killed her he sees more of the monster than himself and knows he has to go into hiding. And there I am with my bloody-looking mouth relating that this is outside my comfort zone!
Well, at least I can laugh about it tonight.
Grimace # 1 was having a precancerous spot burned off my right cheek with liquid nitrogen this past Wednesday. It left a round, scabbed spot about the size of the head of the Q-Tip she used to apply the liquid nitrogen (three times!) with. So, I had to appear with a prominent scab on my cheek.
Grimace #2 was that I stopped at Andy's Variety on my way downtown to grab a bottle of water. While there I also bought a roll of wild cherry Lifesavers to suck on to keep my mouth moist. I take medication that gives me dry mouth so when I do a lot of talking I start coughing. I thought I was well prepared.
Well, I drank some water and sucked on two Lifesavers prior to the event. I guess I also licked my lips to moisten them a few times.
I spoke, I read, I discussed and answered questions, I talked face to face with people and stayed to talk ghosts with a family that had attended, Jessica, and Russell (who recorded the whole event on video).
I packed up what I was taking home, went out, jumped in my car, pulled down the visor, slid the door open on the mirror. The light popped on and I looked to see how horrible my hair looked- but what caught my eye were my BLOOD RED lips and what looked like a clot of blood at the corner of my mouth! Holy crap! The Lifesavers had colored my tongue blood red, and I had then licked my lips coloring them blood red!!
I arrived home, told my husband it had been a great event. And then I told him the red lips story. He said, "Well, you are Miss Peculiar. Maybe they'll think it was fake blood you used to give yourself a ghoul-girl appearance."
At the event one of the questions asked was if I had ever written anything outside of my comfort zone. I had answered that yes, I had written my first horror story a couple weeks ago, but I could not bring myself to read it. I explained it was about a boy who harbors a monster within him. He starts out eating flies at age four, and gradually progresses to eating mice, rats, cats, raccoons, dogs...and then when he's in his twenties he kills a girl he picks up on the street and partially devours her. Looking at himself in the mirror after he's killed her he sees more of the monster than himself and knows he has to go into hiding. And there I am with my bloody-looking mouth relating that this is outside my comfort zone!
Well, at least I can laugh about it tonight.
October 6, 2016
Holy Moly it's Thursday!
Here I have been busy preparing for my upcoming author event on Saturday, and Saturday is coming up as fast as a tractor trailer truck on a steep downgrade that finds itself without brakes! Yikes!
I saw my "kid" brother today (he's one year, two months and fourteen days younger than me- we hashed that out years ago).) I asked him if he was coming to my author event this coming weekend and he gave me "the look" and replied, "Hell, yeah!"
Well, this ought to be interesting. I'm the quiet one in the family and he's the loud one. My sister just laughs a lot (she's four years older than me- and no, I don't have that one so precisely calculated out because she's the big sister.) I think she may be coming with him. Double trouble!!
I'll have to watch what I say and not talk about family because they will jump right in and correct me, call me on the carpet, or simply hijack the event. I'd better not even make eye contact with either one of them. I should make them stand behind the bookcases so we don't set one another off like a string of firecrackers. It can get rather loud when the three of us get going.
I will have to utilize my mother's evil eye should either one start acting up.
I will try to maintain the course- discussing tales of suspense and the supernatural and not letting things degrade into one upmanship as things sometimes do when siblings get together.
I am, of course employing a great deal of irony in tonight's blog. They aren't as bad as I've made them out to be.
With the store owner's permission a special after event surprise event has been planned. It's based on something I used to do with Kelly when she was young only there will be no scrolls with rhyming clues involved. That's all I'm saying right now.
Curiously enough, I saw in the local newspaper that Black Squirrel Day will be celebrated on Saturday also. Here's what's ironic about that- I worked at Conners, Inc at 34 Elm Street, Westfield (now Ezra's Mercantile) from 1993 until the store closed in 2007. It was the store owner George Reichert who came up with the black squirrel idea when we were brainstorming something unique to Westfield to put on souvenir items. It was yours truly who did the pen and ink artwork, and drew the black squirrel silhouette that still graces all the black squirrel merchandise George continues to sell. Maybe as a nod to being the artist behind the black squirrel I'll pin my tiny black squirrel tie tack to my shirt to promote Black Squirrel Days here in town while holding my author event. I have not yet written a black squirrel into any book, but I might have to do that at some point!
Artist, author, amateur photographer, but, alas, although I love music I have no talent for it. The only beat I can keep is a regular heartbeat!
I saw my "kid" brother today (he's one year, two months and fourteen days younger than me- we hashed that out years ago).) I asked him if he was coming to my author event this coming weekend and he gave me "the look" and replied, "Hell, yeah!"
Well, this ought to be interesting. I'm the quiet one in the family and he's the loud one. My sister just laughs a lot (she's four years older than me- and no, I don't have that one so precisely calculated out because she's the big sister.) I think she may be coming with him. Double trouble!!
I'll have to watch what I say and not talk about family because they will jump right in and correct me, call me on the carpet, or simply hijack the event. I'd better not even make eye contact with either one of them. I should make them stand behind the bookcases so we don't set one another off like a string of firecrackers. It can get rather loud when the three of us get going.
I will have to utilize my mother's evil eye should either one start acting up.
I will try to maintain the course- discussing tales of suspense and the supernatural and not letting things degrade into one upmanship as things sometimes do when siblings get together.
I am, of course employing a great deal of irony in tonight's blog. They aren't as bad as I've made them out to be.
With the store owner's permission a special after event surprise event has been planned. It's based on something I used to do with Kelly when she was young only there will be no scrolls with rhyming clues involved. That's all I'm saying right now.
Curiously enough, I saw in the local newspaper that Black Squirrel Day will be celebrated on Saturday also. Here's what's ironic about that- I worked at Conners, Inc at 34 Elm Street, Westfield (now Ezra's Mercantile) from 1993 until the store closed in 2007. It was the store owner George Reichert who came up with the black squirrel idea when we were brainstorming something unique to Westfield to put on souvenir items. It was yours truly who did the pen and ink artwork, and drew the black squirrel silhouette that still graces all the black squirrel merchandise George continues to sell. Maybe as a nod to being the artist behind the black squirrel I'll pin my tiny black squirrel tie tack to my shirt to promote Black Squirrel Days here in town while holding my author event. I have not yet written a black squirrel into any book, but I might have to do that at some point!
Artist, author, amateur photographer, but, alas, although I love music I have no talent for it. The only beat I can keep is a regular heartbeat!
October 4, 2016
A Message or Just an Eerie Coincidence?
Today is the 16th anniversary of the day my mother passed away.
I always feel sad on October 4th and secretly have hoped for a sign from Mom that she's all right, that she's still close. Like Harry Houdini, I've been disappointed year after year since her passing.
Tonight after dinner I jokingly said, "Well, it's been another year and she's failed to come thru again!"
John warned me not to mess with my mother, and reminded me how I had been joking about my maternal grandmother Betty one time and a small, antique bent nail had somehow come from behind the early 1900's hand-tinted photo of her that was hanging on the living room wall at the time. I was standing about four feet away from the picture. Now, Betty supposedly told my mother that "if you don't live your life right you get sent back and have to try again." My mother told all of us this and it sounded reasonable enough to us so we all accepted that.
Anyway- after joking about Betty I was standing there and I heard a click beside my left foot. I looked down and there on the hardwood floor was the little nail. The picture was to my right. The nail was one that holds the cardboard backing to the frame and that was against the wall. If the nail had popped out it would have fallen on the floor or gotten caught between the wall and the back of the oval frame that rests against the wall. It would not have come out from behind the frame and sailed four feet into the room and landed on the far side of my left foot! We were convinced Betty had thrown the nail at me for making the joke! Point taken, I have not made any jokes about her since. (She died when my Mom was 13-years old so I never knew her, just knew of her. My middle name is Elizabeth. I was named after her!)
So, back to tonight. I came out into the kitchen as I usually do to work on notes for my upcoming author appearance (haunting tales, of course). I set up my laptop, switched on the wireless mouse, sat down and then glanced at the clock to see what time it was. I had a totally surreal moment when I saw it was 10:02PM. That just could not be! I looked at the LED clock n the range and it read 7:20. I looked at the kitchen wall clock again and then it struck me- the second hand was not moving! The clock hands read the time my mother passed from this world on October 4th 2000!! And the battery was dead! I got goosebumps!
I sit at the kitchen table every night writing. I look at the clock frequently to keep track of the time, to know how much more time I have before bedtime.
So, here then, was my mother giving me that sign I needed and wanted after my saying that she had failed me again this year!
And then it occurred to me that this is the 16th anniversary of her death. A long standing issue I had growing up was that Mom had given my sister a sweet sixteen party but I didn't get one. That hurt. I harped about it for years. She appeased me by giving me an Always 21 party complete with an Always 21 charm for my bracelet.
Year sixteen...was she also giving me a nod to that old issue of no sweet sixteen party? Maybe!
Whatever happened tonight it was unusual but it made me feel much better. I'm pretty sure I looked at the clock when I got home, and all three of us sat under the clock at dinner and I know I looked at it when I was feeding the cats after dinner and didn't notice anything unusual. Somehow between 6:30 and 7:20 the hands of that clock were moved forward to 10:02PM and the battery was completely drained.
I miss you, Mom...and I love you- always!
I always feel sad on October 4th and secretly have hoped for a sign from Mom that she's all right, that she's still close. Like Harry Houdini, I've been disappointed year after year since her passing.
Tonight after dinner I jokingly said, "Well, it's been another year and she's failed to come thru again!"
John warned me not to mess with my mother, and reminded me how I had been joking about my maternal grandmother Betty one time and a small, antique bent nail had somehow come from behind the early 1900's hand-tinted photo of her that was hanging on the living room wall at the time. I was standing about four feet away from the picture. Now, Betty supposedly told my mother that "if you don't live your life right you get sent back and have to try again." My mother told all of us this and it sounded reasonable enough to us so we all accepted that.
Anyway- after joking about Betty I was standing there and I heard a click beside my left foot. I looked down and there on the hardwood floor was the little nail. The picture was to my right. The nail was one that holds the cardboard backing to the frame and that was against the wall. If the nail had popped out it would have fallen on the floor or gotten caught between the wall and the back of the oval frame that rests against the wall. It would not have come out from behind the frame and sailed four feet into the room and landed on the far side of my left foot! We were convinced Betty had thrown the nail at me for making the joke! Point taken, I have not made any jokes about her since. (She died when my Mom was 13-years old so I never knew her, just knew of her. My middle name is Elizabeth. I was named after her!)
So, back to tonight. I came out into the kitchen as I usually do to work on notes for my upcoming author appearance (haunting tales, of course). I set up my laptop, switched on the wireless mouse, sat down and then glanced at the clock to see what time it was. I had a totally surreal moment when I saw it was 10:02PM. That just could not be! I looked at the LED clock n the range and it read 7:20. I looked at the kitchen wall clock again and then it struck me- the second hand was not moving! The clock hands read the time my mother passed from this world on October 4th 2000!! And the battery was dead! I got goosebumps!
I sit at the kitchen table every night writing. I look at the clock frequently to keep track of the time, to know how much more time I have before bedtime.
So, here then, was my mother giving me that sign I needed and wanted after my saying that she had failed me again this year!
And then it occurred to me that this is the 16th anniversary of her death. A long standing issue I had growing up was that Mom had given my sister a sweet sixteen party but I didn't get one. That hurt. I harped about it for years. She appeased me by giving me an Always 21 party complete with an Always 21 charm for my bracelet.
Year sixteen...was she also giving me a nod to that old issue of no sweet sixteen party? Maybe!
Whatever happened tonight it was unusual but it made me feel much better. I'm pretty sure I looked at the clock when I got home, and all three of us sat under the clock at dinner and I know I looked at it when I was feeding the cats after dinner and didn't notice anything unusual. Somehow between 6:30 and 7:20 the hands of that clock were moved forward to 10:02PM and the battery was completely drained.
I miss you, Mom...and I love you- always!
October 3, 2016
Miss Peculiar Gets Her Haunt On
I have an author appearance scheduled here in Westfield, my hometown since mid-1973, this coming Saturday. I have been stressing about it for a few weeks, but finally decided I had two choices- I could tie myself up in nervous knots, or I could relax and do what I do second best, which is have fun as a hostess and make my event memorable.
I came up with a cool idea.
Sunday afternoon I ran downtown to fly this idea past the owner of the bookstore. We discussed it a little and decided that if done correctly it could be a lot of fun for the readers who attend. So I got the green light and left a copy paper carton I had in my car with her that day. I'm preparing a second carton to take with me on Saturday. I'm not saying what's in the cartons- it's a spooktacular and fun surprise!
I also just got the nod to do a Halloween themed raffle basket for a private Artworks|Westfield dinner/ dance on the 15th. I'm excited about putting that together and hoping it'll be an interesting yet fun basket that will bring decent bids to help fund this great group here in Westfield that's working hard to bring the arts in all their myriad forms back to this city that was in such a dismal slump not too long ago with outdated, empty storefronts and eerie silent sidewalks. Things are changing. I'm excited to be part of this movement toward returning culture and the arts to a quaint little city at the gateway to the Berkshires which has it's own rich cultural history. Heading west you've got to pass through here to get to there so Westfield is positioned in a good place to be a springboard to what lies in the furthest reaches and picturesque corners of western MA.
Feeling excited instead of anxious now!
I came up with a cool idea.
Sunday afternoon I ran downtown to fly this idea past the owner of the bookstore. We discussed it a little and decided that if done correctly it could be a lot of fun for the readers who attend. So I got the green light and left a copy paper carton I had in my car with her that day. I'm preparing a second carton to take with me on Saturday. I'm not saying what's in the cartons- it's a spooktacular and fun surprise!
I also just got the nod to do a Halloween themed raffle basket for a private Artworks|Westfield dinner/ dance on the 15th. I'm excited about putting that together and hoping it'll be an interesting yet fun basket that will bring decent bids to help fund this great group here in Westfield that's working hard to bring the arts in all their myriad forms back to this city that was in such a dismal slump not too long ago with outdated, empty storefronts and eerie silent sidewalks. Things are changing. I'm excited to be part of this movement toward returning culture and the arts to a quaint little city at the gateway to the Berkshires which has it's own rich cultural history. Heading west you've got to pass through here to get to there so Westfield is positioned in a good place to be a springboard to what lies in the furthest reaches and picturesque corners of western MA.
Feeling excited instead of anxious now!
September 30, 2016
What Do I Say About Me?
I'm really a rather private person. Not J.D. Salinger reclusive, but I keep to myself pretty much.
I'm making my first solo appearance as an author a week from tomorrow. I was just going to do a book signing event, but it turned into a book reading/discussion/signing/meet & greet the author event.
I'm not a very verbal person- unless I'm writing. Speaking in public has never been something I've ever wanted to do. I've come a long distance since my painfully shy childhood and early years. I'm comfortable among friends, but have the family trait of needing some time to warm up to people. I'm a terrific listener. I'm more observant than the ordinary person. I just don't like to talk.
But I'll try.
Except, I really have nothing to say about myself. I was pretty much born a writer. I fell n love with words in kindergarten when the very first word we learned was LOOK. OMG-that was and still is a magical word! Mrs. Suprenant drew black pupils inside the two Os in LOOK making eyeballs that were looking back at us- and that was the key that unlocked reading comprehension for me.
I've written since I was in first grade. I didn't go to school for it. I did enjoy taking every creative writing class in high school and college that I could get into. I was bored one summer when I was 16 or 17 and read the entire Merriam Webster paperback dictionary I owned at the time- cover to cover. I don't suppose too many people can say they've done that. I just love words.
I flex my vocabulary when talking with Kelly who does the same thing. We don't settle for the smallest word possible. We're not afraid to use big words. We more or less challenge one another and make a game of using the most obscure word possible for every word we speak to one another. John, of course, rolls his eyes, stretches out on the couch, turns up the volume on the TV and watches sports. He just doesn't understand us.
I've done a lot of things in my life, but I really have never been anywhere interesting. I've worked as a carpet repairer, a store detective, a campus police officer and then as the night shift campus police supervisor. I've run injection molding machines and made LEGO bricks and storage buckets. I sold office products (Kelly and I share a passion for pens!) and I currently work as a medical secretary, specialized to medication prior authorizations, helping patients get VNA services, PCA services, HHA services, DME like hospital beds and wheelchairs, helping people obtain disabled placards and making sure the doctors sign everything that comes into the office that requires their signature related to all these things I do.
And I write. I write just about every day. When my brain feels tired then I don't write. I clean my house instead.
I honestly don't know what I'm going to say next Saturday. I don't know where my stories come from. I just sit down at the computer with nothing in mind, start typing and there they are. I have a muse and he's prolific, to say the least. I say he's a he because I like the idea that I take dictation from a dashing male muse better than the thought of being the typist for a female taskmaster!
In general, I'm just an ordinary person who happens to write a lot of stories and books. I've been this way since I was a little girl writing at my desk in my room. My mother filled our home with books, filled our Christmas stockings with pencils and paper and always encouraged us to be our own selves.
We grew up in the 60's- those joyful days of hippies, peace, love and Woodstock, but also Vietnam, desegregation, protests and bra burnings. Our parents gave us (my older sister, younger brother and I) love, discipline, a happy home (despite some difficult times), and gentle guidance but allowed us the freedom to grow into who we each are as individuals. We're all very different, yet we share common family traits. My sister writes children's poetry and stories. She likes to write plays. My brother wants to write detective stories but hasn;t even begum writing yet. All three of us are avid readers, however, we all like very different authors. My sister and brother read my books, my daughter reads most of my books, my husband doesn't read any of my books. My friends vary from reading all my books to reading one or two of them. I read my own books and sometimes reread them and just shake my head wondering where on earth they came from! I find partial stories lying around the house and honestly don't remember writing them, or stand there trying to decide if I wrote it or Kelly wrote it. Sometimes the only way I can tell is by the handwriting. My printing and writing is bigger and more flowing than her tiny cramped writing. If the story or partial story is typed (as most are these days) I have to ask her if she wrote it or I did- and sometimes even she's not sure!
Maybe there's a ghost writer in our house? (Not a ghostwriter, I actually do mean a ghost writer! We have a tendency to attract ghosts.)
I'm rambling tonight, trying to find me in all of this stuff.
I guess I'm basically a down to earth, easy going, fairly intelligent, somewhat gifted, more than a little eccentric, pretty private, wildly imaginative, incredibly observant, more than a little creative, ironic, funny, too quiet person who's lacking in self confidence primarily because,to me I am just me. I wasn't raised to be a self-centered princess, a prima donna or a diva.
I'm just me. I'm a writer.
I just write.
I guess that's what I'll say. I just write.
I'm making my first solo appearance as an author a week from tomorrow. I was just going to do a book signing event, but it turned into a book reading/discussion/signing/meet & greet the author event.
I'm not a very verbal person- unless I'm writing. Speaking in public has never been something I've ever wanted to do. I've come a long distance since my painfully shy childhood and early years. I'm comfortable among friends, but have the family trait of needing some time to warm up to people. I'm a terrific listener. I'm more observant than the ordinary person. I just don't like to talk.
But I'll try.
Except, I really have nothing to say about myself. I was pretty much born a writer. I fell n love with words in kindergarten when the very first word we learned was LOOK. OMG-that was and still is a magical word! Mrs. Suprenant drew black pupils inside the two Os in LOOK making eyeballs that were looking back at us- and that was the key that unlocked reading comprehension for me.
I've written since I was in first grade. I didn't go to school for it. I did enjoy taking every creative writing class in high school and college that I could get into. I was bored one summer when I was 16 or 17 and read the entire Merriam Webster paperback dictionary I owned at the time- cover to cover. I don't suppose too many people can say they've done that. I just love words.
I flex my vocabulary when talking with Kelly who does the same thing. We don't settle for the smallest word possible. We're not afraid to use big words. We more or less challenge one another and make a game of using the most obscure word possible for every word we speak to one another. John, of course, rolls his eyes, stretches out on the couch, turns up the volume on the TV and watches sports. He just doesn't understand us.
I've done a lot of things in my life, but I really have never been anywhere interesting. I've worked as a carpet repairer, a store detective, a campus police officer and then as the night shift campus police supervisor. I've run injection molding machines and made LEGO bricks and storage buckets. I sold office products (Kelly and I share a passion for pens!) and I currently work as a medical secretary, specialized to medication prior authorizations, helping patients get VNA services, PCA services, HHA services, DME like hospital beds and wheelchairs, helping people obtain disabled placards and making sure the doctors sign everything that comes into the office that requires their signature related to all these things I do.
And I write. I write just about every day. When my brain feels tired then I don't write. I clean my house instead.
I honestly don't know what I'm going to say next Saturday. I don't know where my stories come from. I just sit down at the computer with nothing in mind, start typing and there they are. I have a muse and he's prolific, to say the least. I say he's a he because I like the idea that I take dictation from a dashing male muse better than the thought of being the typist for a female taskmaster!
In general, I'm just an ordinary person who happens to write a lot of stories and books. I've been this way since I was a little girl writing at my desk in my room. My mother filled our home with books, filled our Christmas stockings with pencils and paper and always encouraged us to be our own selves.
We grew up in the 60's- those joyful days of hippies, peace, love and Woodstock, but also Vietnam, desegregation, protests and bra burnings. Our parents gave us (my older sister, younger brother and I) love, discipline, a happy home (despite some difficult times), and gentle guidance but allowed us the freedom to grow into who we each are as individuals. We're all very different, yet we share common family traits. My sister writes children's poetry and stories. She likes to write plays. My brother wants to write detective stories but hasn;t even begum writing yet. All three of us are avid readers, however, we all like very different authors. My sister and brother read my books, my daughter reads most of my books, my husband doesn't read any of my books. My friends vary from reading all my books to reading one or two of them. I read my own books and sometimes reread them and just shake my head wondering where on earth they came from! I find partial stories lying around the house and honestly don't remember writing them, or stand there trying to decide if I wrote it or Kelly wrote it. Sometimes the only way I can tell is by the handwriting. My printing and writing is bigger and more flowing than her tiny cramped writing. If the story or partial story is typed (as most are these days) I have to ask her if she wrote it or I did- and sometimes even she's not sure!
Maybe there's a ghost writer in our house? (Not a ghostwriter, I actually do mean a ghost writer! We have a tendency to attract ghosts.)
I'm rambling tonight, trying to find me in all of this stuff.
I guess I'm basically a down to earth, easy going, fairly intelligent, somewhat gifted, more than a little eccentric, pretty private, wildly imaginative, incredibly observant, more than a little creative, ironic, funny, too quiet person who's lacking in self confidence primarily because,to me I am just me. I wasn't raised to be a self-centered princess, a prima donna or a diva.
I'm just me. I'm a writer.
I just write.
I guess that's what I'll say. I just write.
September 28, 2016
The Werewolf?
I've lived up here on East Mountain since 1973, more or less. There were about five and a half years when I lived in West Springfield in a haunted house, but my parents still lived up here and we visited every Sunday. John and I bought our own house up here in 1989. So, I can safely say I've heard all the varieties of owls that live in these woods- Great Horned owl, barred owl, screech owls...however, tonight, while lying across the foot of the bed writing in my journal I became aware of a loud call out in the woods, not too far from the house.
At first I thought it was an owl, but then I got up and went to listen at the window because it sounded so close. It had an owl hoot quality to it, but the end part of its call was more animal in nature. It repeated at regular intervals like owls hoot...but I can honestly say that I have never heard anything quite like this call.
It's moved away from the woods just behind the house, further back toward the cliffs.
It almost put me in mind of a werewolf...maybe there's an as yet undiscovered creature lurking in our woods?
I feel another haunting tale coming on thanks to this eerie sound emanating from the deep dark woods tonight....
At first I thought it was an owl, but then I got up and went to listen at the window because it sounded so close. It had an owl hoot quality to it, but the end part of its call was more animal in nature. It repeated at regular intervals like owls hoot...but I can honestly say that I have never heard anything quite like this call.
It's moved away from the woods just behind the house, further back toward the cliffs.
It almost put me in mind of a werewolf...maybe there's an as yet undiscovered creature lurking in our woods?
I feel another haunting tale coming on thanks to this eerie sound emanating from the deep dark woods tonight....
September 25, 2016
The First Haunting Tale of 2016
This is about the time of year that I start writing the annual Haunting Tales for Family & Friends that eventually are collected and published in volumes titled Miss Peculiar's Haunting Tales. There are currently three Miss Peculiar's volumes published. I almost have enough stories for a fourth volume. That will probably be published next September in time for Halloween 2017.
I wrote a horror story, something new for me, about a week or so ago. To this day I have not been able to read it. It's gross and disturbing. I'm not a horror writer.
So, tonight at 7:30PM I sat down with an idea in mind and wrote the official first haunting tale of 2016 titled You Can't Go Home Again. It's basically a story about a 15-year old girl who has to take her three younger half brothers out trick or treating around their neighborhood which is comprised of four streets that form a square with only one exit down the street the family lives on. Everyone pretty much knows one another in this close knit neighborhood so they feel safe enough going out even though they all have the usual fear of the dark jitters that gets combined with the excitement of collecting candy treats one night a year.
This is a suspenseful, spooky little story about a normal Halloween night that derails into the dark side.
That's all I can say.
I might treat those who attend my book reading/discussion/book signing for Miss Peculiar's Haunting Tales, Volume I on October 8th at 11AM at the Book Club Book store and More! at 2 Main Street in Westfield, MA to a sneak peek at what's to come in Volume IV in the fall of 2017 when the book is published by reading an excerpt from this story.
Now I feel I'm back in my element...
I wrote a horror story, something new for me, about a week or so ago. To this day I have not been able to read it. It's gross and disturbing. I'm not a horror writer.
So, tonight at 7:30PM I sat down with an idea in mind and wrote the official first haunting tale of 2016 titled You Can't Go Home Again. It's basically a story about a 15-year old girl who has to take her three younger half brothers out trick or treating around their neighborhood which is comprised of four streets that form a square with only one exit down the street the family lives on. Everyone pretty much knows one another in this close knit neighborhood so they feel safe enough going out even though they all have the usual fear of the dark jitters that gets combined with the excitement of collecting candy treats one night a year.
This is a suspenseful, spooky little story about a normal Halloween night that derails into the dark side.
That's all I can say.
I might treat those who attend my book reading/discussion/book signing for Miss Peculiar's Haunting Tales, Volume I on October 8th at 11AM at the Book Club Book store and More! at 2 Main Street in Westfield, MA to a sneak peek at what's to come in Volume IV in the fall of 2017 when the book is published by reading an excerpt from this story.
Now I feel I'm back in my element...
Back On Track
Now that the health crisis with Riley Beans had resolved I can concentrate on writing again. I wrote a horror story a little while ago when stressed out by my cat being sick, craziness at work, stress at home as my unemployed husband continues to try to land a job...it's all been too distracting and I've been able to think about anything but getting my cat well again and trying to fix things at work that I shouldn't be having to deal with. I'm just a secretary, not a manager.
I trashed the first chapter of the sequel to Black King Takes White Queen that I had written and then set aside, intending to write the sequel as this year's NaNo novel in November. I'd given Kristina, a coworker who loved the book, the first chapter as a sneak peek at what's to come.
Saturday afternoon and evening we were all at a party at ne of the doctor's houses- he'd just bought the house and moved in this past July and wanted to throw a party for staff and a few neighbors. I happen to live in this neighborhood (since I was fifteen, actually. John and I bought a house here when my parents still live on Joann Drive. So the neighbors he invited are people I've known for years, except for one couple I hadn't yet met).
Anyway, Kristina asked me when she was going to get more chapters to read. I told her I'd trashed that version and started another and she was absolutely shocked that I would do such a thing. Well, it happens all the time. If I don't feel something is going the way it should I'll restart it. That's what I did.
Over this weekend I've written more and am now 16,063 words and about five chapters into the second book in the series. To appease her outrage I've printed off 32 pages and put them in a binder I'll give her tomorrow so she can get her Romney fix. It'll be interesting to hear what she thinks of this version. If she doesn't like it I may have to start again
I trashed the first chapter of the sequel to Black King Takes White Queen that I had written and then set aside, intending to write the sequel as this year's NaNo novel in November. I'd given Kristina, a coworker who loved the book, the first chapter as a sneak peek at what's to come.
Saturday afternoon and evening we were all at a party at ne of the doctor's houses- he'd just bought the house and moved in this past July and wanted to throw a party for staff and a few neighbors. I happen to live in this neighborhood (since I was fifteen, actually. John and I bought a house here when my parents still live on Joann Drive. So the neighbors he invited are people I've known for years, except for one couple I hadn't yet met).
Anyway, Kristina asked me when she was going to get more chapters to read. I told her I'd trashed that version and started another and she was absolutely shocked that I would do such a thing. Well, it happens all the time. If I don't feel something is going the way it should I'll restart it. That's what I did.
Over this weekend I've written more and am now 16,063 words and about five chapters into the second book in the series. To appease her outrage I've printed off 32 pages and put them in a binder I'll give her tomorrow so she can get her Romney fix. It'll be interesting to hear what she thinks of this version. If she doesn't like it I may have to start again
September 21, 2016
Dealing With It
The past week has been difficult as we've coped with a health issue with my little long-haired gray and white cat, Riley Beans. Beans and Revere are my writing buddies, always coming out into the kitchen to keep me company when I'm writing at the kitchen table.
We noticed that Beans was losing weight about a month ago but blamed it on the hot, humid weather suppressing his appetite and zapping his energy level. He was eating and drinking, but abut a week ago he stopped drinking out of my cup (something he's loved to do for a couple years now), and wanting us to turn on the tap a bit in the bathroom so he could drink right from the faucet. He even stopped jumping into the bathtub to lap up water...so that rang alarm bells.
So off to the vet he went to the tune of $600 for a fluid bolus to help rehydrate him, bloodwork to try to determine if he had developed diabetes or another major health issue, and an x-ray of his intestines which revealed he was constipated and may suffer from chronic constipation due to his history of bad teeth and low fluid intake.
So now he is on a grain free diet with water added to wet and dry foods to keep him hydrated as best we can, and Laxatone cat remedy from a tube that smells like maple syrup. He seems to like that.
Depending on what happens today he may or may not go back to the vet for additional an additional fluid bolus.
Needless to say I have not been able to concentrate on any writing projects and have only produced that one horrible little horror story (the product of stress, worry and a little depression maybe?)
I'm dealing with it all, carrying on as best I can with work and everything else life throws across my path.
I have a new beginning to the sequel to Black King Take White Queen in mind. Am working that out as I still hope to make that this year's NaNo novel, but I may switch it out and write it now and do the other novel I want to write in November. The girls at work are hounding me for a sequel NOW for Black King so they may get what they want after all!
Meanwhile...keeping an eye on Riley Beans who is only 5 years old. He's too young to have these health woes!
We noticed that Beans was losing weight about a month ago but blamed it on the hot, humid weather suppressing his appetite and zapping his energy level. He was eating and drinking, but abut a week ago he stopped drinking out of my cup (something he's loved to do for a couple years now), and wanting us to turn on the tap a bit in the bathroom so he could drink right from the faucet. He even stopped jumping into the bathtub to lap up water...so that rang alarm bells.
So off to the vet he went to the tune of $600 for a fluid bolus to help rehydrate him, bloodwork to try to determine if he had developed diabetes or another major health issue, and an x-ray of his intestines which revealed he was constipated and may suffer from chronic constipation due to his history of bad teeth and low fluid intake.
So now he is on a grain free diet with water added to wet and dry foods to keep him hydrated as best we can, and Laxatone cat remedy from a tube that smells like maple syrup. He seems to like that.
Depending on what happens today he may or may not go back to the vet for additional an additional fluid bolus.
Needless to say I have not been able to concentrate on any writing projects and have only produced that one horrible little horror story (the product of stress, worry and a little depression maybe?)
I'm dealing with it all, carrying on as best I can with work and everything else life throws across my path.
I have a new beginning to the sequel to Black King Take White Queen in mind. Am working that out as I still hope to make that this year's NaNo novel, but I may switch it out and write it now and do the other novel I want to write in November. The girls at work are hounding me for a sequel NOW for Black King so they may get what they want after all!
Meanwhile...keeping an eye on Riley Beans who is only 5 years old. He's too young to have these health woes!
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Here I will write a little bit about my writing, how I write, how I create characters and environments...and maybe some little glimpses into my real life because writers and authors are real people af
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