Trixie Archer's Blog, page 7

My Cousin Winnie

​Have you ever met someone who complained non-stop?  Through a whine they announce, "It's raining outside...it's cold, it's snowing, the sun is SO bright, it's dreadfully hot, my stomach hurts, I lost my right shoe..." and the list goes on and on as if their pain is stuck on repeat.
 
Sometimes I wish I could shake them and say, "WAKE UP, THIS IS AS GOOD AS IT GETS...start seeing the beauty, change your inner voice and it'll change your life!"
 
If you're fortunate you have limited contact with Cousin Winnie, if not, you live with them.  Either way there are a few techniques that I've found to be of great benefit.   
 
Headphones are wonderful especially with a nice tranquil music to snuff them out.  Through a soundtrack one can visualize a new dialogue as they bellyache.  Think of it as a foreign movie without subtitles, add the element of imagination and an amazing transformation occurs.  "What a wonderful day it is!  I noticed the flowers in bloom as the sun illuminated the colors with an amazing vibrancy. "  Even though Winnie the Whiner has a scrunched nose from what she is actually complaining about, you can reason that you are simply misinterpreting her facial expression.
 
Another strategy is to remove yourself from their company.  "I'll be back.  I need to put gas in the car for work tomorrow."  (or)  "The leaves in the yard really need to be raked and now is soon enough." 
 
Winnie:   "But it's two in the morning....isn't it a bit dark?"
 
"No worries, I'll find my way. I always do."
 
Let's not forget the person who drones on and on about their health issues.  "...and then I could hear the bone snap and I just knew my leg was broken.  Six surgeries, five skin grafts and four doctor's appointments and it seems I'll need to go through the whole process once again because it didn't set right.  Did I tell you how awful the nausea was?"  I do sympathize, honestly I do, but there comes a point to where a person thinks, just shoot me.
 
Or how about the whiner-diner?  Have you ever been in the company of someone who sends everything back to the kitchen simply because they can?  "What's this?"  Referring to the misplacement of the stem portion of lettuce on their salad plate.  "You really think I want to eat this?"  They demand perfection with a heated tone and an air of superiority.  In that moment, Mars seems like the best choice of a planet for escape.
 
"This steak needs a bit more cooking in order to be medium-well...now snap to it!" 
 
There are standards sure, but I feel that such complainers would have benefitted from growing up in a large family.  Any food left over was gourmet, having access to the bathroom when needed, a luxury.  Making it through a single day without being insulted or stepped on with boundaries intact was a miracle.
 
In my humble opinion we've become too soft, our expectations have become set too high.  When my kids were little and they didn't like dinner I'd say in a monotone voice, "eat it anyway!"  Do you know what?  They did.  They realized that unless they wanted to make their own meal, they had to adapt. 
 
Winnie the Whiner never learned the art of adapting.  Silver platter, silver spoon with an entire waiting staff to cater to her every need rendered a lifetime of maintaining a gratitude impairment.
 
I'm not sure how Winnie grew up, but I'm from the real world.  I change my own car battery and I mow my own lawn.  No complaints just pride in what I can do for myself and an undying appreciation for those who work hard to make my pause at a restaurant a most enjoyable experience.
 
Attitude is everything and the worth of a decent pair of noise cancelling headphones, priceless. 
 
Until next week, toughen up!
 
~Trixie Archer

Malice

BOOM!   The door slammed as the force caused my bedroom window to rattle in protest.  I jolted awake.  Startled.
 
My heart pounded with a surge of adrenaline.  I wanted to cry....I wanted to call out for help but there was no one there to call to.  Night, darkness, silence, uncertainty. 
 
I held my breath, listening, waiting...  My heartbeat was audible through my ears.   Panic and fear mixed together in a martini of horror.    
 
I should go and see why the basement door closed like it did...I should go and see.  That would have been the logical thing to do except that meant padding down the hall, through the kitchen, unlocking the kitchen door, standing on the stoop of in-between where creepy things could grab me, opening the basement door, turning on the lights, scaling the steps into the dank abyss ALONE...and that is exactly where I would find the reason why the basement door slammed.  Such a reason lingered as the worst imaginable question.
 
Instead I pulled the covers over my eyes and worked to control my fear.  I visualized the calm of water, I visualized the clarity of day.  Deep breaths.  My eyelashes made a noise as they brushed the top sheet above.  Blink.  Blink.  Were those footsteps I was hearing from the level below?  No...my imagination was inventing as it always did.
 
Maybe I should phone the police.   Sweat began to pebble on my forehead.   I couldn't move so I closed my eyes.  The phone rested on my nightstand a foot and a half from my reach but I didn't dare.  My arms felt heavy as if they were cast in cement.  With superhuman strength I moved the covers from my face as fresh air slapped me awake.  Oversized digital numbers read 3:15...with the semicolon flashing second after second.  Time was oblivious to circumstance. 
 
What if the door didn't slam after all?  What if it was all mixed into what I was dreaming?  Could the explanation be that simple?  What was I dreaming about?
 
I paused for a moment trying to remember, but I drew a blank. 
 
What if the reason for the door slamming below me defied explanation?  What if....
 
I tossed the blankets and jolted up.  My toes curled around the wooden side rail of my bed.  For the moment I was safe, for the moment I was alive.  Deep breaths, calm down...for the moment...
 
I thought about calling my brother Travis but his reassurance would come at a hefty price...I'd be teased from that moment forward.  "'Fradie-cat," he'd say in a deliberate tone. 
 
I'd heard it all before, the manner for which irrational fear gripped me in the night.  3 in the morning seemed to be my witching hour.  It was always near and around that time I'd feel the haunting of my spirit.  Wake up silly...your mind is twisted in a knot, you need to recognize fear for what it is...re-set-re-do but good lord girl just calm down!
 
Mom and dad would share a laugh at my expense...and that laughter would follow me years into the future.  I carried plenty of scars from my childhood. 
 
"We woke up to find her fast asleep on the floor near the foot of our bed.  We nearly stepped on her too...she was always so afraid." 
 
My mother spat "afraid" as if there was never any reason for such a thing.   Her disapproving chuckle said it all.  My family never called me a "big baby" to my face but behind my back, well I just knew.  No, I wouldn't phone Travis, not that night, not ever for I was on my own.  I had to stand strong.  Real or imagined something slammed the door that was meant to give me a fright and it did.
 
Face your fears.
 
When I was five years old, a prowler tried to break through the back door to snatch me.  No one believed me at first until they found a cigarette burning near our back door.  Terror.  The police said, "lucky your daughter screamed just when she did."  Mom and dad were in the next room and as they came running, the prowler ran too.    
 
Once when everyone still lived at home someone threw a brick through our front window in the dead of night.  There were also many times that our mailbox had been plowed over....always at night...and drunks walking home from the tavern two blocks away would use the space between the shrubs and our home to relieve themselves.  Yes there were plenty of things to worry about as some reasons were more troubling than others.  Once upon a time I felt safe, but that was once upon a time.   
 
Fast forward to that moment and I'd give anything to have mom and dad at home so that I could curl up on the floor of their bedroom.   The hardwood embraced me with cool and my pillow wadded in a lift beneath my cheek invited sleep.  The comfort was knowing I wasn't alone...that they were there too.  Judgment or not I would feel calm again, enough for rest.  I didn't have that when THE DOOR SLAMMED closed...five or was it now ten minutes ago?  Blink, blink, the digital clock flickered the torture of moments.
 
I needed to muster the courage to check the basement.  IF there was something there, there was something there, but what troubled me above everything else was how my final scream would fall away unheard.  The monster's name was Malice...Alice with an M for my final misery.  I'd scream all right and no one would hear me.  The homes were set a good distance apart which was obviously the greatest disadvantage to the country life.
 
Face your fears.
 
I know that is an easy thing to say especially midday from the safety of many years into the future, but in that moment...age 16, spending my first weekend alone with no one to call for backup, no dog to lead the way, not so much. 
 
If I could have crawled under the bed I would have...if my legs would have cooperated to carry me from there with confidence they would have...but I remained frozen...waiting, supposing and praying for the best.  My bedroom window had rattled after the door slammed and without any cross currents of air circulating in the basement, that only led to one conclusion, I wasn't alone in the house after all.
 
Even under the sunniest of conditions the basement at my parents home was dark and scary.  Three canister lights illuminated an enormous amount of space.  60 watts of dim was merely spit on a forest fire.  The brown tiles on their floor did nothing but discourage the spread of light.  At three in the morning the idea of investigating seemed more than  anyone should ever consider. 
 
I lifted the phone and thought about what I'd say to Travis.  It was then I realized there was no point so I hung up, clicked on the lights and prayed for a new perspective.   So what slammed the door?
 
The worst thought I could possibly have was how the cigarette man had returned to snatch me.  There were reasons he disappeared so easily way back in the day.  He slid in through the basement window and used the exit through the cellar door to the other side of reality.   Now he was back.  He had been waiting for the moment to where I was finally left on my own.
 
Bulging eyes, hollow cheeks and tufts of hair that stood on end from the top of his asymmetrical head.  He was fear, he was the thief of life peering into the soul of me.  I wanted to scream out to him...so I did, "LEAVE ME ALONE!"  Tears fell from my face as I lost the battle of composure.  I was on a rampage now...I didn't care, I took charge throwing all caution to the wind.  Demented or not, ready or not....
 
I darted from my room, down the hallway clicking lights along the path to the basement.  This was it.  THIS WAS IT.  The cold garage stoop, lights on...ancient Studebaker carrying the odor of malfunction.  The basement door squeaked open on its hinge...darkness transformed to light with a simple click.  I hurried forth two steps at a time as my body was fueled with adrenaline.  Click, click, click...dim lights on.  Silence, still, nothingness. 
 
"Where are you?"  I called.  "I know you're here.  Well I'm not ready...not now, not ever, you can't have me!  I will fight you with everything I have in me.  Mr. Fear...leave me the heck alone!"
 
It was then the cellar door began to swing open, s-l-o-w-l-y...and it closed again...
 
I had forgotten.  Mom had asked me to close the window earlier.  "The dehumidifier isn't working again and the air is musty...the window...remember to lock it before night, okay?"
 
I nodded as I was only half paying attention to my mother.  I'd been planning what to do after work...the movies I'd watch, the freedom I'd enjoy.  The window, I had forgotten to close the window...which of course explained everything.
 
I smiled to myself.  I was proud to have faced my fears and realized how everything in life carried a simple explanation.  I could sleep now, I could sleep...except when I reached over to close the basement window that is when I noticed the unmistakable stench.  On the ground just inches from me I caught sight of a cigarette ember.  Malice won.
 
Happy Halloween!~ 
 
 
 
 

Let's Play Hooky

This week it seemed as if I'd fallen and couldn't stand up.  It all began on Monday with a promise to take my sister to the bus station for her trip to Rhode Island.  The sun was out and the temperature was in the mid 70's.  I spent a few hours writing that morning and should have returned home to continue but then a hankering overtook me as I realized the benefits of playing hooky.  In just a few short weeks such an option to be outdoors will disappear so I surrendered to temptation. 
 
After dropping my sister off, I swung by the park and took a much needed walk around the lake.  Although small, the effects of calm are reflected in great abundance on the water.  It was a beautiful day, a bit windy but absolutely uplifting.
 
On Tuesday I drove out to my sister's farm once again.  She had left her recycling out for pick up and I needed to roll the bin from the street.  On this occasion, I carried along my Nikon to exercise its viewpoint before the great "S" falls from the sky.  I'm not going to say the "s" word for I make it a point not to use profanity on my blog.
 
My sister's country home is located on six acres.  The place is rather isolated being an ideal escape from the sirens, traffic and people in town.  Normally such a degree of alone makes me feel uneasy but not on Tuesday.  I took a deep breath and began my photographic journey.  My aim was to capture the changing colors and variety of textures of autumn but in truth, I was hoping to meet up with a family that introduced themselves on Sunday when I was helping my sister with her lawn.
 
I've probably mentioned this here before but I enjoy driving a zero turning radius mower on my sister's property.  Once a week I'll help her mow.  The patter of the engine and the fragrance of cut grass offers me a sense of clarity.  My focus is on the next stretch ahead as my mind explores plot and character development for writing.  I could be a race-mower for I am rather proficient; zip here, turn there and not a blade of grass is ever left behind.
 
 Anyway, as I was mowing I swung down a narrow path, nudged a fence post with the mower bed and that's when I met Mr. Field Mouse as he scurried away.  I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being watched.  Sure enough with tiny eyes set on my presence, Mrs. Mouse said "hey" from a cavity at the center of the post. 
 
I know some might cringe at the idea of a mouse being a foot or so from their face, but I couldn't help myself.   I said, "Hello mouse, glad to meet you!"
 
On the drive back home that day I decided to photograph the mouse family for my blog this week.  I mean after all, how many mice push themselves onto a blogger with the bold intent to be "discovered?"  I thought of the entire premise of "I love Lucy" and how Lucy was often going to extremes to push herself into show business.  It was then I decided to give Mrs. Mouse the stage name of "Luce."
 
On Tuesday with great patience I set up my tripod and waited.  Birds sang, crickets chirped and the tranquility of the countryside worked some magic.  A majestic hawk circled overhead and I used the quick release to capture twenty shots.  I nailed it!  They were all in focus and a smile fell across my face until, until, well until I realized....the hawk was actually a vulture.  Okay it wasn't a yellow tail but even in it's own creepy way there was something cool about it...a vampire-like mystery to the cape of feathers and the want to feast on blood...but wait a minute, the thing was circling me, did it know something I didn't?   Yikes.
 
I replaced my camera onto the tripod and waited for Luce and her kin.  Tick-tock-tick-tock, bugs were buzzing, twigs were snapping and the snapping wasn't anything small...footsteps, something was coming at me from the field!
 
What did I have to protect myself?  A tripod, a camera, my water bottle...a pocket knife...but hey, that would mean that I'd have to go eye to eye with whatever creature those footsteps belonged to.  A black bear had been spotted about twenty miles from my sister's farm, what if there was actually more than one and it was there?  Gulp.
 
I spoke up.  "Um, critter?"  (The sound from the animal approaching ceased.)  "I just wanted you to know that I'm here taking pictures.  I'm not sure what you are or why you're here...I'm guessing maybe you're looking for a drink in the pond...but could you please take another path?  I'd rather not see you, okay?"
 
As if the thing understood my every word, the footsteps trailed away.  I turned my camera to the direction of sound and caught a glimpse of a skunk just before it disappeared into the foliage.  I was grateful the critter understood crazy human talk otherwise it would have been a rather smelly experience.
 
About a half hour later with no appearance by Luce I decided to continue my way around the property.  Maybe next time I'll set my camera up and tap on the post to see if anyone is home.  Luce and her family were probably fast asleep or out collecting corn from the field to carry them through winter.
 
Leaves, textures, berries and water... I left the farm that day with a basket full of color to combat the dulls of the approaching winter.  I had a great time despite my failure to meet up with "Luce" again.  I plan on a few more trips to my sister's farm so if and when I finally meet Luce, I'll be sure to post her image.
 
Until then, you'll have to use your imagination of that tiny mouse peeking at me from the fence post at my sister's farm. 
 
Now to shift into gear so as to finish up "A Love for the Taking."  That's something I'll need to focus on with great care and dedication.
 
See you next week,
 
~Trixie Archer 
  

A Jacket for Wear

As some of you may know, I wrote a book and sold a few copies on Amazon. It's been a while and pretty soon I'll be doing the whole thing all over again.  It most certainly is a "close your eyes and jump" sort of experience. I enjoy writing but as an independent-self published artist there is a most interesting challenge that accompanies the process and that would be the book jacket. 
 
The first impression rests in the design.  The book jacket is the apparel an author wears for the greatest job interview ever.  Based on an impression, will you invite my story into your library?  Shabby clothes, shabby book...  The image should convey one word that describes the story, a scene or a perfect moment.  With that said, it all boils down to asking what word is.  What feeling will the artwork invite?  All a person has is the chance of a glance.  Click to read more or continue searching the other books offered.
 
Sex is the obvious choice as I learned years ago in a psychology of advertising class.  In today's world however, there are more subtle options and unless a book is fueled by passion, using sex to sell especially if it does not correspond with content will only result in much complaint and many books returned.
 
The next challenge rests in the brief description.   The simple words to introduce a story must be carefully chosen, a line of fireworks in the sky that either draws a reader in or sends them running.  Written well and a reader is intrigued, written without the right balance and the audience is put off.
 
Adding to this are key words that places an author's book in a stack above the rest on Amazon.  The wrong words and a master computer sends the book to the bottom row in the basement.  It's all a chance because no one knows what sequence will place one book in the front window along the center square of shops.  Hit or miss and try again.
 
The perfect ingredients discloses enough to draw an audience but does not give too much away.  If everything has all ready been revealed what's the point in reading the story?  How can readers be left to want more without saying too much about it?
 
This reminds me of sitting in a theater and the upcoming attractions that are played during the wait for the main feature to begin.  Fire, explosions, romance, perfectly executed lines...we laugh and enjoy the summary on what the next viewing experience might bring.  Knowing the whole story sometimes before forking out the money may not be the best option.  In some instances, the preview clips are the only glue holding a film together.  When there is no element of surprise left, most leave the theater disappointed since they had pretty much seen all that the film had to offer through the countless ads and spoilers.  We need surprises, we need to be entertained and we must always be left longing for more. 
 
So after a story is written, what should be said about it?  "Peggy Sue Got Married," yes that pretty much sums up the story all in the four words of the title.  Do we really want the end to be given to us or do we wish to open a book and be pleasantly surprised along the way?  Do we want to feel the breeze on our face and smell the fresh aroma of coffee being brewed on an open fire?  Do we want to feel the wonders of love right along with the main characters?
 
I have two stories that I'm working really hard to produce.  One of which, "A Love for the Taking" has a few twists and turns that I hope will be a pleasant surprise to all who give it a try.  So what will the book jacket look like?  What should the copy say exactly?  "Adventure, romance and a bit of luck?"  Maybe.  Somehow I think "just read this" would not work to sell many books nor would a cover that resembles a brown paper bag that uses a generic stencil font...but then again, it may be different enough to be intriguing.  The trick is to paint a picture but not reveal all of the colors and to use magical paint so that the longer you look, the more you desire to see.
 
It seems as if most in the industry follows a predetermined path.  I look at book jackets everywhere and they all seem to be vying for potential buyers at the same time, in the same way.  Why?  Maybe because everyone else is doing it...but if so, how does one book stand out above the next.  Is "being the same as" really a good enough reason to wear a uniform?  Why not try a different approach?  Why not say something like, "Meet Esther Tucker, she has a bit of a problem, she needs to travel from Independence to California and with a bit of luck, she'll live to tell about it...."  Would a more simplistic approach be wiser rather than knowing what is going to happen before reading the entire work?
 
Time will tell...and until then I'll continue to work on the details surrounding the journey that will bring this all home.  It is a journey too, one that I hope to feel great pride in once I finally close my eyes, plug my nose and push submit on Amazon. 
 
Until next week,
 
~Trixie Archer 
 
 
 

12 Needful Things

​Wouldn't it be great if we could pick twelve of our favorite things to send as a gift to a loved one to make their life better?  I often think about the movie "Castaway" and the resourcefulness a person has to survive desperate circumstances.  If only someone could have sent Chuck a crate of needful things, just think how much easier his life would have been. 
 
We all know people who are struggling as such, if not physically but perhaps emotionally.  If only a care-package could find them to offer a lift just when they needed it most.
 
The following is what I'd send and why:
 
1)  A bottle of ice cold water but glass, not plastic because everything tastes better from a glass bottle.  It would have a rubber top with a ceramic pressure cap on a wire making it easy to refill.  I actually keep one in my office mini-refrigerator.  No matter how troubled life seems, a swig or two of cold refreshes my perspective and renews my determination.  At the top of this gift would be a special bow with sparkles to showcase how something so basic can mean so much.
 
2)  A flashlight that has a crank so as to recharge the battery numerous times.  Everyone needs a good light to help them find the way through the darkest of moments!  To be honest, I can't have enough flashlights around me.  It has to be my favorite invention of all time.  Click, light, click, dark, hand puppets on the ceiling...a scary index finger pointing downwards as if accusing me.  Shadows dance across the expanse of night igniting a person's imagination...for better or for worse it's just me and my shadow.
 
3)  A drawing pad, pencil, sharpener and a gum eraser.  Okay so that's four things in one, a boxed set!   The empty paper is a doorway to a world where anything is possible and the pencil is the key that opens that door.  Traveling up and away...to the past, to the present or to a scene in the future.  There are many characters to meet, fangs, claws, beautiful eyes, friendliness or a force to be reckoned with...it is all within just waiting to take form.
 
4)  A small bouncy-ball that glows in the dark.  On many occasions when I would visit my older sister at her flat in Chicago, I'd spend what seemed like "forever" waiting on her return after work.  I'd never been so alone before but it was a good sort of alone.  I was limited in what I could do or where I could go because of my age so I'd borrow one of her racquetballs and toss it against the brick of the building.  It offered many hours of entertainment and there was something calming about the process.  Every toss uncluttered my mind.  Even still I must always have a bouncy ball somewhere close so that I never lose sight of my youth.
 
5)  A 3 1/2 x 5 note card with the words "forgive yourself" written at the center.  No matter who we are,  when things fall silent our past often flashes before us.  For better or for worse, we find ourselves reliving the many yesterday's that carried us there.  We all have regrets or "if I could do it all again I would have changed _____" wish for better.  None of us can go back so the only answer is to forgive ourselves and move forward. 
 
6)  A blanket that is both warm and soft.  There is nothing finer than a decent blanket that snuggles us at the end of a long-hard day.  No matter how dismal the rest of it seems, to curl up within the square of gentleness helps all worries to disappear.
 
7)  A clown nose that one of my kids received in a happy meal years ago.  It is a simple reminder to maintain a sense of humor even under the most dire of circumstances.  Let's face it, attitude is everything...it can make us or break us.  So the dish ran away with the spoon and you now only have your fingers to eat with...a clown nose makes every bite seem do-able.
 
8)  A non-breakable mirror.  What good is a clown nose if you can't see yourself while wearing it?  Self reflection is a good thing.  Knowing that you are the person who carried you to this moment and you are the only person who can find the strength to see it through is important.  The mirror also works perfectly to start fires along the beach or to signal the boats passing by. 
 
9)  A small window screen.  Have you ever seized the opportunity to sift out the imperfections in beach sand?  What's left in the "after" is the most delicate of feelings.  The texture, the purity, the softness of grains...everyone should take a moment to sift because we learn to be more discernable.  We contemplate who is worthy of our time and who is not.  So, yes a screen for sifting is tremendously important.
 
10)  My favorite book of all time.  As I sit here at six in the morning, there are so many works that come to mind, too many.  Some may say the bible, but I say it should be a book with blank pages because we all must write our own story.  It should be the most interesting of tales with many characters and a wealth of life experiences.  Hopefully by the end it overflows with the most amazing adventures.  It should always be a number one best seller written especially for you!
 
11)  A pair of binoculars.  Seeing what lies ahead is so very important while planning a new day.  If only those simple lenses carried an ability for us to know the outcome from the paths we choose.  We could step forward with absolute certainty that we are moving in the most favorable direction.  If only...
 
12)   Number twelve should be the most important gift ever...but what could it possibly be?  How about a carrying case for everything that I've sent?  What good is a bunch of clutter without a way to keep it handy?  Organized pockets, a durable zipper with a heavy nylon material...yes!  A case represents the boundaries we must have in order to manage our everyday. 
 
So there you have it.  Twelve gifts to be delivered that would help lift the spirits of my friend the castaway.  I would hope that someone would take the time to ship me such gifts if I were stranded in the middle of nowhere facing the unimaginable.  You know, like with most there are days that seem as if I am.  Now why on earth did I fail to mention a box of chocolate on that list somewhere?
 
Until next time,
~Trixie Archer    

A Blinding Experience

So for today’s blog I was aiming for something a bit different.  I put a blindfold on.   Yes, you heard me right.  I decided to see if I could maintain a level headed perspective to stroll around outside and return to the back door without relying on my eyes.  Our back yard is fenced in, so how dangerous could it be right?
 
The following is what I learned:
 
First, before doing as much as a dog owner I should have made certain that all land mines from Monkeyshine were picked up.  I’m just saying on behalf of my shoes that would have been a pretty good idea.  For the record, major fail on my part.
 
The neighbor two houses away who decided to mow just as I was stepping outdoors and cluttered the air with noise is officially on my naughty list for the holidays this year.  No cookie gift bags for you Bud McKay!
 
My dog Monkeyshine running past me while placing her nose to my hand caught me off guard and the changing of directions was an unforeseeable risk.  North was south or was it east or west?  Confusion.
 
Somehow I forgot the placement of the hammock on our patio.  I’m all for a good kiss but not the ground!
 
The snickers from the preschool kids next door despite the lawnmower noise registered loud and clear.  Admittedly, I was the perfect comic relief for their playtime in the sandbox.
 
Using the sun as a way to gather my bearings seemed to help.  Go to the light!
 
Realizing that there was no possible way to work my smart phone when it rang left me wishing to rename it a dumb phone instead.
 
Ultimately…eventually…with…dings, bangs and bumps, I found the back door.  Blindfold off…it was then I wondered how on earth I ended up in my neighbor’s yard?
 
Until next time,
~Trixie Archer
 
 
 
 
 

A Blue Sigh

I’ve been feeling rather blue and my son has been too.  (Bad rhyme I know)  JD’s talking about dying his hair blue, which of course makes me see things a bit blue as well.  Not really, but it seemed like a good opening for my blog today.  The truth is, I’ve always encouraged artistic expression, so blue hair, pink or orange... all is good with me.  In my opinion there are much bigger things to fret over in the grander scheme of life. 

During the first year of college, my daughter went through a pink hair stage.  Hot pink.  It was an interesting social experience.  There were many double takes and I remember one biting comment as we were standing in line at the BMV.  This fellow comes out of nowhere and says to my daughter, “take me to your leader!”  He was rather loud and he seemed to believe his comment to be humorous.  My daughter and I as well as the others in line just stood there with a troubled expression, not fully comprehending the audacity of some people. 

I believe everyone should go through a pink or blue hair stage in life…but then again, maybe we all do in some way or another.  My brother, for example, collects and drives a fleet of classic cars.  They are shined, buffed and glistening.  Of course no one would voice anything rude surrounding his cars, but many will wave and offer a “thumbs up” in approval.

My daughter and her friends were in town last weekend for a Ramencon Event nearby.  They all dressed in costume as they attended the festivities as such.  We all need to run with our people sometimes, to laugh, to learn, and to grow so as to better understand ourselves...and yes, we should sport blue hair if that’s what makes us happy.

As far as my current projects are concerned, I’m continuing to dedicate a great chunk of time to “A Love for the Taking” while simultaneously working on “Chumz.”  As I mentioned last week, I was hoping to use my daughter and her friend as models for the cover, however, that didn’t quite work out as intended.  With the convention there was little time to set up for a photo shoot.  Regardless, I was thrilled to put together a decent cover but had to go with a plan B instead of what I had originally intended.  That’s the wonderful thing about art; sometimes flubs become masterpieces and sometimes what we plan meshes into something we never imagined possible.

Speaking of which, I’ve been digging up clay at my sister’s farm and have been trying my hand at sculpting.  I’m loving it!  In fact, I’m thinking about taking a class this winter to learn the proper techniques.  Ever since I can remember I’ve been sand sculpting at Lake Michigan and during the winter months using snow as my medium.  It was no surprise that when I began using the rough clay that I was able to render something recognizable.  Bring on the mess!

As you’ve probably realized, I live for creating.  I draw with coal, pencils and words.  If I can imagine it, I live to make it happen.  It’s who I am really.

We all need to harvest that oomph and of course, take some time run with our people, blue hair and all.

Until next week,

Trixie Archer

A Wordstorm

I woke up to raining words for the past couple of weeks.  A flood.  Everywhere I looked, they were falling from the sky.  It was an abundance of thoughts collecting in puddles around me.  Even if I wanted to stop them, it was beyond my control.  The weather within me is like that sometimes.  I’m unable to prevent a story as it spills from me.  Sentence after sentence falling from my fingertips, a thunderstorm of movement along the keyboard until “bam,” a story has been created!

When I write, I dare…to imagine, to push all limits, to express untapped feelings, to consider.  I say it and then I work really hard to say it better.  It can be a wonderful experience, but also exhausting.  That is exactly where I am at this moment, exhausted. 

The short story that I wrote is about as good as it’ll get.  My daughter and her friends are coming to town this weekend and I have an idea for a cover.  I’ll need to see if they’ll help me out.  So it’s time to dust off my camera and work a bit of magic.  Places, lights, now say “cheese.” 

Are you ready for a short story that I intend to serve as a bit of an appetizer to the next full coarse novel that I’ve been working on for over a year?   That is my intention, 20 pages with the possibility of an added chapter to be posted here on my blog. 

Sometimes the process is thrilling but other times showcasing a huge part of my soul like that is really quite daunting.  Not everyone will be in agreement.  Some will just say “average” while others will say, “great” and a select group will always say “horrible.” It all stings, well mostly all of it since my skin has always leaned a bit on the thin side.  Instead of stars, Amazon ought to have bee stings because maybe if an author is stung enough they’ll get used to the ouch. 
 

Ever since I was in the second grade and ol’ Iron Pants (my teacher) laid into me for combining the color red with orange I cringe when I present my work.  Granted red and orange may not have been the most suitable choices as far as color themes are concerned…but, BUT what sort of person lays into a little kid in such a bullying way?  I’ve grown to better understand that people who mistreat others are really living in their own sort of hell.  It must be miserable to be them. 

I found it ironic how many years later when we bought a 1950’s home and we pulled up the flooring in the kitchen we learned the layer below was covered in a pattern of orange and red.  Apparently, the person who designed the pattern would have benefited from Iron Pants as their teacher.

My point is, junk or treasure…an eye sore or beauty…  I plan on publishing the short on Amazon as soon as possible…so do tell and mention what you think after…but please be kind.  Your words are the fuel for most independent authors to write more or to run for shelter until the next word storm passes.  “Chumz,” look for it!

Well I must be off.  With all of those words that fell and the roof not being strong enough to hold them, I have a terrible mess to clean up before our guests arrive tomorrow.  Now should I use a mop or an oversize eraser?

Until next time,

~Trixie Archer

Turn Left or Write

Hi everyone.  I took a turn this week from the main highway.  There was road construction so I had no other choice.  I landed somewhere in the Southern United States.  That would be the symbolism of my off-the-beaten-path writing excursion, but however you slice it, I struck gold!

I wrote a ten page short story.  When I completed it, I had the same feeling of “not bad, not bad at all” that I had while creating “Falling Whispers.”  Penning this short took everything I had in me.  So I must decide what exactly to do with the tale.  It’d be nice to showcase something new on Amazon while I continue to plug away with editing “A Love for the Taking.”  

Would you pay 99 cents for a ten page romantic escape?  It’s less costly than a full two week vacation and comes with dinner as part of the storyline.   So I can advertise a low fat, low calorie reading experience.

The idea came to me at three in the morning on Tuesday.  3 must be when my mind is working at full capacity.  I’ve come to realize sleep deprivation is a true friend of mine.  I always have something great to show after. 

Aside from that, I’ve been working with great determination on editing my current book.  One thing about writing a story of length, it also means a lot of effort is needed to make it shine after.  I’m seeing red with lines, cross outs and suggestions no matter where I look.  What would I do without my editor?  She was rather quick about it considering she juggled my book around her vacation.  I’m all for taking a lump of clay to re-shape it for the better.  The trick is in the elbow grease, the glisten is in the time involved.

I truly appreciate your patience.  Well I must be off.  There’s a lot to do and I’m on a tight schedule.  I hope I can travel write instead of left this time.  (Bad joke, I know.)

Until next week,

~Trixie Archer

 

The Latest

“I’m late!”  How many times have I mumbled those words as I was rushing here or driving there?  Probably more than I care to admit.  If only I could toss a lasso over the second hand of a clock…to click a “stop” button so as to gain an hour or two of pause.  It would be wonderful to accomplish everything before the bell.  Just FREEZE!  Unfortunately, stuff happens…trees fall, roads wash out, and tires burst... it happens.  

How often does the act of reaching the gate just after its’ been locked alter the future?  

When admitting tardiness on the job, the outcome does not hold much positive.  Of course most of us would cushion the truth of oversleeping or the mismanagement of time with a colorful excuse.  “Hi boss.  Would you believe I was stuck in a backup on the expressway this morning…then arriving to the city late meant the parking garage was full so I had to drive ten blocks away.  By the time I hailed a cab, forget it, my apologies.”   

Day two of Late Archer:  “Somehow the interior lights were left on in my car overnight and the thing wouldn’t start.  I had to take the bus which as you know, moves slow, turtle slow or weeds-grow-under-your feet slow.”  

And day three:  “When I let Monkeyshine out this morning, someone had opened the gate in the night and I ended up chasing her around the neighborhood.  You should have seen that dog run!”  

I suppose in the end, late is late and the reason is irrelevant…when a person is fired, they’re fired.  

Can “late” ever carry a positive outcome?  I often consider this question because I struggle with time.  I mistakenly believe I have more minutes in a day than I do.  I try to figure out a simple good favor to such a quirk.  

Maybe part of this limitation has to do with the way my mind works.  I have story lines that are set in a constant motion.  Words, images, people, conversations…I move from this way to that physically but my inner popcorn is always popping.  I sense the tick-tock movement and sometimes I feel in tune with it until I realize how the tempo had somehow accelerated between chapter six and chapter seven.  When I finally swim back to the surface of reality, I am horrified to learn, “I’m late.”  

One positive may be that “on time” translates to missing the accident that is cluttering the intersection.  If I had been on time…bing, bang, boom!  Then what?  I would have been the one sitting behind the wheel with a bloody nose waiting for an ambulance, in need of a tow truck and facing the long process of insurance claims.  So I drive with caution, ten miles below the speed limit no matter what.  In the case of missing an accident, late might be a good thing.  

Consider this, the act of being on time or a minute or two late for an appointment means that if the doctor is ahead of schedule, they are waiting on me and not the other way around.  I know that may sound rude but sitting idle in a waiting room is painful.   

Years ago when my daughter was an infant I booked a Saturday appointment.  I had no other choice to take the popular timeslot due to babysitting arrangements.  After an hour and a half of sitting in the crowded waiting room, I was shown into an exam room where I waited another hour and a half before I was finally seen.   Because of the hassle of child care, I resigned myself to hold on but it was during that experience something within me snapped.  I ended up on the receiving end of  “late” and such an extreme was not a pleasant experience.  Ever since I shoot for “almost is good enough” surrounding appointments.  

The most embarrassing “late” I’ve ever had was for the first day of my job as a retouch artist many years ago.  This happened in the land before cell phones so I was unable to notify my new employer how I turned off the wrong exit ramp leading me towards Wisconsin instead of west of the city.  I wasn’t just late for work; I was an embarrassing hour off schedule.  My head hung low as I apologized.   

One thing that I have never been late for was to pick my kids up after an activity or school.  If I promised to be there, I was.  I wanted them to know I was reliable and to build their sense of security.  Feeling vulnerable while waiting on my mom was one of those things that I didn’t appreciate when I was a girl.  The “big, bad, wolf” was always lurking in my imagination, so when I was left waiting I always considered the worst possible scenario.  A car accident, a fall or an unforeseen health issue… where as the reality was that my mother stopped at the grocery store before picking me up and the line was longer than she anticipated imposed great frustration.  

Job interviews are definitely something a person should never be late for.  Paying taxes, well a second past deadline and the IRS begins charging interest.  Not arriving on time for your wedding, probably not a great way to begin a new life together.  Ten seconds past the time one would need to catch the last ferry off an island, a huge “no-way,” literally.  

With all of that said, as you have probably realized this week’s blog is an entire day late.  My daughter was in town and she had some medical issues that needed my full attention.  Although I am dedicated to this blog, my daughter needed me.  I hope you can forgive the delay…better late than never right?  So, I will admit it here and now, “I’m late.”  My sincerest apologies~  Now I’m off to continue editing my book.  

Until next week,  

~Trixie