Outdoor writing season has officially begun! To celebrate, I wore a fun hat. When did I stop wearing hats regularly? I don’t know—but I’m bringing them back with a vengeance.
I’m doing other things I’ve been meaning to do as well. Like write poetry. In fact, I’m finally starting an occasional series called Busted Poetry Vending Machine, right here, right now.
I’ve been both fascinated and terrified of poetry for a long time, and I’ve decided: why not? I’m always telling people that writing isn’t brain surgery, that no one gets hurt if it’s not perfect—so it’s time to take my own advice.
So there. 😛
Actually, that’s why I wore my hat today, too.
Down with others’ expectations. Away with perfectionism and fear.
Consider this an invitation to join me in doing what scares you most—or maybe what scares you just a little. Or maybe something you’ve just been putting off.
Say the thing. Do the thing. Make the thing. If not now, when?
Novel News
Novel number three is well under way. With three timelines and all the characters that come with them, you’d think it would get complicated—but not really.
Today, though, I spent a lot of time threading a character into a section backwards. See, I thought she wouldn’t be in what was kind of a prologue (but is now not, because—well—she’s in it).
She has been one of the more difficult characters to get inside of. Her name is Rebecca (which gives absolutely nothing away—I’m not ready for that yet), and though one of the things I do pretty strongly is give my female characters agency, I really wasn’t giving her that. I had her tamed, quieted—but today I gave her back her voice.
She thought she had to just “go along to get along.” Gross.
Today, I let her feel. I let her snark. I let her love. I let her discover. She both protected and confronted. She saw the greatness and the clay feet (is that a cliche?) of those around her—as well as her own.
She is now thoroughly human, at least in this chapter. I have some work ahead of me.
I’m not sure why I thought I had to smooth down her hair and soften her voice. Someone once told me she shouldn’t have ringlets because they made her seem too young. Go to hell—ringlets are fire. (And I’m not just saying that because I have unruly, curly hair. And, occasionally, ringlets.)
It’s difficult not to villainize your characters, and yet it’s so important that you not. Our dear Rebecca was “done wrong” by another character in the novel, and yet I feel strongly that he must be a rounded character.
Was he a total douche canoe part of the time? Sure. But reasons.
Busted Poetry Vending Machine: First Sip
Dang it, I promised you a poem, and I only have a couple of lines prepared that came to me last night. Let me fiddle with them a bit before I set them down here.
Don’t judge. Judge me. Love it. Hate it. What you think of my words isn’t any of my business.
My business is to pour you a sip of my soul and invite you to drink. If it’s not for you, no hard feelings—go about your business. If it is, let’s talk. I’m a pretty good listener, especially when it comes to soul music.
And your soul misses you.
Ok, here goes.
Some Said It Thundered
Some said it thundered and I agree. Isn’t that what happens after the spark blows blue inside you and you wonder what happened?
1.21 gigawatts reverberate for years, maybe centuries.
Fictional units of power— but tell me they don’t burn.
I am delighted to share with you a recent interview of me over on Author’s Note Newsletter. I was approached by the lovely Lauren Chronister a few months ago with this opportunity, and I was thrilled to have chatted with her. She’s got a deep interest in the story behind the story, why writers write what they write. It’s been fun getting to know Lauren, a writer who has also spent time in Indiana.
We discuss my current novel-in-progress in the interview, so if you’re curious, take a gander. We also talk about how my long-suffering husband agreed to delay the celebration of our anniversary this year because I was deep in the writing zone that day. (And the husband of the year award goes to…To be fair, I suggested we go see A Complete Unknown, the biopic of Bob Dylan, to celebrate, which I knew he would enjoy, so maybe I wasn’t entirely self-serving.)
Lauren has moved her excellent newsletter over to Substack, so if you love conversations about books and writing, please consider subscribing. She’s a warm, talented woman, and I’m grateful she took the time to talk with me.
Psst…I have been writing several blog posts in my head, but just haven’t gotten them onto the page yet. Here’s a sneak peek: my WIP has now officially crossed the 80K mark!
For the past four years, Barry and I have taken an annual winter writing retreat. It helps us reconnect with our writing projects—and with each other. We’ve come to really look forward to these.
This year, we chose a cute boutique hotel near the Indiana Dunes, one of our favorite places, though we usually visit in the summer. Typically, we rent an Airbnb, but last year I ended up cooking way too much. While I enjoyed that, this time I wanted more writing time.
The retreat came at just the right moment. I’ve been struggling with novel number three, while Barry is revising the novel he wrote during the pandemic. I’m a little jealous of how clean and disciplined his writing process is.
As for my novel—I’m happy with parts of it, but there are other parts that have completely perplexed me. It deals with three timelines, which might explain some of the difficulty I’ve been having.
Barry and I settled into our retreat routine easily: mornings spent writing in companionable silence in the glorious sunroom down the hall from our suite, where squirrels played in the trees, and, out the window, gently sloping hills. Afternoons were for reading or exploring, and evenings meant dining out. One night, we went to the best Italian place, where I had tagliatelle with buttered mushrooms.
I’d felt connected to my story, but there were parts I hadn’t quite managed to make any progress on. There’s one timeline—the most important one—that I had barely touched. I think I just didn’t know how to approach it. I figured this was the time to dive in. So, I set a timer for thirty minutes to focus (I’ve found the Pomodoro Method, which I first read about in Lauren Graham’s Talking as Fast as I Can, really works when it’s hard to get started).
We were into the second half hour of writing on an overcast day when it happened. The sunroom was warmed by light from a nearby lamp, I could’ve just sat there, gazing out the window, laughing at the bad weather while sipping tea and typing, but suddenly, my writing captivated me. Light academia music played in my AirPods. When the timer dinged, I forced myself to stop writing and sit back.
Barry asked how it had gone. My eyes filled. “It’s finally happening,” I said. The scene I’d been working on had finally come into view. It wasn’t perfect, but it was a great start. My novel had begun to bloom.
Since then, I’ve been inseparable from my novel. Even when I’m doing other things, it’s always in my mind. I’m rearranging pieces in my head, adding new scenes, thinking about it constantly. I’m impatient when doing almost anything that’s not writing. It’s the first time I’ve felt this way since I started the book.
Rick Neumayer is no stranger to this blog. He’s a good friend of ours, and his books are delightful. From his heartfelt debut novel, Journeyman (which I was privileged to help workshop) to his first Jim Guthrie mystery, Hotwalker, I am always thrilled to hear that Rick has something new on tap. (And he and my hubby are great musical friends, having made music into the wee hours in Ireland, long after I had returned to our room to pack the night before we left Galway.)
But I digress. Below I tell you more in depth why you should read (and review on Amazon!) dear Rick’s book. First, here’s his back cover copy:
Jim Guthrie is back, and this time, the case is out of this world … literally. Louisville’s favorite private eye finds himself embroiled in a tangled web of mystery at the “Little Green Men Festival” in Hopkinsville, Kentucky. A documentary filmmaker vanishes, a mysterious monolith appears overnight, and whispers of alien involvement fill the air. But beneath the quirky festival facade lies a sinister truth. A fifteen-year-old murder case resurfaces, tying directly to Guthrie’s current client and the missing filmmaker. As he delves deeper, Guthrie uncovers a web of deceit, greed, and violence that stretches far beyond the reach of little green men. Can Guthrie navigate the bizarre world of UFO enthusiasts, untangle a cold case, and rescue the missing filmmaker before it’s too late?
Now my take.
Richard Neumayer’s “The Little Green Men Murders” takes readers on a captivating journey through the intriguing world of rural Kentucky’s UFO subculture. In this second standalone adventure featuring private investigator Jim Guthrie, Neumayer delivers a fast-paced mystery filled with humor, suspense, and unexpected twists.
Set against the backdrop of a quirky UFO-themed festival, the novel opens with Jim Guthrie receiving a frantic phone call from Jessamine Barrett Tilford, who pleads for his help in finding her kidnapped husband, Travis. As Jim dives into the investigation, he uncovers a world of conspiracy theories, amateurish kidnappers, and bizarre festival attendees dressed as “little green men.” With a ransom demand of $500,000 looming over them, Jim and Jessamine must navigate through a web of danger and deception to rescue Travis before it’s too late.
One of the novel’s standout features is Neumayer’s adept blend of humor and suspense. When someone mentions Guthrie’s skittishness around a particular dog, he quips to his readers, “Small wonder. Next to Cybil’s dog, the hound of the Baskervilles would pale. Her Irish wolfhound stood over seven feet tall on his hind legs, with a wiry gray coat, foot-long snout, and tennis ball-sized eyes.” It’s this combination of humor and vivid, apt descriptions that bring scenes to life in his audience’s imagination.
From clever banter to unexpected plot twists, Neumayer keeps readers enthralled and amused throughout the narrative. Despite the gravity of the situation, the interactions between characters, particularly Jim Guthrie and Jessamine Tilford, are infused with humor and warmth, enriching the depth of the story. There’s a subtle undercurrent of sexual tension, yet Guthrie maintains a respectful distance and understands his boundaries.
Neumayer’s writing style is both sharp and engaging, with a narrative that effortlessly flows from one scene to the next. The pacing is brisk, immersing readers in the heart of the mystery from the very first page and maintaining momentum until the final reveal. Each chapter is brimming with suspenseful moments and unforeseen revelations, ensuring that readers remain eagerly invested in the unfolding story. Neumayer’s literary approach to storytelling elevates this book beyond mere entertainment, showcasing it as a work of literary merit.
Furthermore, Neumayer excels in creating bold and atmospheric settings. The rural landscape of Kentucky serves as more than just a backdrop; it becomes a character in its own right, with its abandoned churches, dense forests, and mysterious religious sects adding depth and intrigue to the plot. Neumayer’s descriptive prose paints a lively picture of the setting, transporting readers to the heart of the action with every turn of the page.
“The Little Green Men Murders” is a finely crafted mystery that is sure to delight fans of the genre. With its compelling characters, clever plot twists, and unique setting, this novel is a must-read for anyone looking for a thrilling and entertaining read.
On a personal note, let me say what a beautiful soul this writer is. He’s one of those people who makes your heart happy when you see an email of his in your inbox. You’re pleased to do anything for him because he’s just as generous. He’s a kind, patient, wise man, and you know the good he’s done in the world and you’re just glad he’s here. He’s endured unimaginable suffering and has only grown stronger and sweeter for it. Barry and I are so honored to call him friend.
But if you read his books, you’ll know all of that about him anyway. (And do read his books! You won’t be sorry.)
We’re deep into spring, and I, for one, am grateful. I need the sun, need the flowers. Need to be able to write outdoors again because my heart needs sun.
Our family suffered a blow in late February. Peacefully, surrounded by her loving family, my eldest sister, Tammy, passed from this world.
My sister had faced health challenges for years, and we knew these past seven years in particular were bonus ones. Still, we hoped we’d have her a lot longer.
Her family meant everything to her. She was generous and outgoing. She was friendly and loyal. She was loving and loved.
The last meaningful interaction I had with my sister was to share some good news with her, and I’m so, so glad I did. Though she was intubated, her eyes lit up with excitement when I told her: Barry and I are about to become grandparents for the first time. Yes, Zackery and Katherine are expecting a baby.
Maybe someday I can write more about Tammy (and about my father, who left us too soon as well) but right now, it’s too difficult. I want to hold my memories close. I told both of them as they were leaving us that they were going ahead to prepare for the rest of us. As difficult as it is to say goodbye, it’s also such a blessing to be able to say everything that is in your heart while you still can.
Here’s a precious photo of a new piece of my and Barry’s heart, Alexander, coming August 2024. Just as I am Zackery’s Marmee, I will be Alexander’s Marmee. (From Little Women, in case you’re not familiar. Zack still signs cards to me that way.) Barry will be his “Grandpop.” I suggested “Grandrock” might be more appropriate, but Barry wasn’t a fan of that. I’m already obsessed with the little guy.
While I’m sorry I won’t be able to go to Tammy now when I need grandparenting advice, sorry I won’t get that reliable birthday morning call from her every year or spend time with her everlasting exuberance, I’ll never forget that smile of pure delight when I told her about Alexander. Even though she was in pain, even though she couldn’t speak, the sparkle in her blue, blue eyes said everything. I’m sorry Alexander won’t get to know her.
Today I am so honored to share an interview with a great friend of this blog and a woman whose poetry I admire very much. Her collection, In the Shadow of Rainbows, has been out for a few months now, and I’m sorry to have waited so long to tell you about it. It’s just lovely, as is she. She is unfailingly positive and supportive, and I truly appreciate this internet friendship we’ve developed.
By time you’ve finished reading this interview, you’ll want to read her book of poetry, so do yourself a favor and just go ahead and buy it now. It’s available on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and Goodreads. (Here’s the Amazon link. https://www.amazon.com/Shadow-Rainbows-Collection-Songs-Presence/dp/1739404440 )What’s more, if you enjoy it as much as I believe you will, please leave her a glowing review on Amazons and/or Goodreads.
On her website, Selma describes herself as a “reader, writer, learner; enthusiast, encourager, believer of miracles, and oh, so ordinary.” I would quibble with that, because she is so much more. By the time you read this extraordinary interview with her, I think you’ll agree with me.
Selma, your poetry collection, In the Shadow of Rainbows, is described as pointing the way to the beauty in the everyday, which we think is a fantastic way to live. Can you share an example of an everyday moment that has inspired one of your poems?What is your favorite poem in the collection?
I’ll start with the last part. Favorite poem? I don’t think there’s only one. I really like them all. But I will name one: Epiphany. I think we are made of two parts as humans. One part a donkey rider, and the other part donkey. In this particular poem, I made the moon a character and gave her the qualities of the universal mother. It takes someone with the qualities of a mother to appreciate the imperfect perfections that we–half riders, half donkeys–are. Please read that poem to see if you can see what I see.
As for an example of an everyday moment, here’s one that many readers have expressed resonating with:
Something’s Broken
That scraping, maddening sound,
that creaking and groaning I hear–
like iron on iron
that rises with the wind
and is followed by the loud bark
of a neighbor’s dog
if that dog hears it,
everyone in this sleepy coastal town does
But what is it?
Anything could make such a mad sound,
the swinging of a gate,
halyards slapping on the mast of sailboats,
metal dragging on cement
mattress springs,
faulty wheels on a pram,
whale calls, or
marriage-vows renounced
The dogs are anxious tonight
yes, halyards clang; mine are frapped tight.
Something scrapes that shouldn’t scrape
something’s stuck that shouldn’t be
something promised to last ends
–something’s broken
That moaning and rasping strains
heavy on the wind tonight.
Do you hear it too?
(Page 56)
***
This poem comes with echoes of the butterfly effect and I feel it’s appropriate today as it’s a reminder of how when something like wars, mass shootings, and unrest happens in one part of the world, it affects us all. Some of us discern
the imbalance and suffer from the disparity and then some others feel lost and walk around with one palm outstretched as if weighing something (what?) or perpetually checking to see if it’s raining; not grasping the enormity of how what’s happening out there relates to how we are feeling today. So really, we all hear the moaning and rasping strains. We are all going around feeling that something is indeed broken. So let’s all be kind to each other.
2. How long did it take you to write this collection of poems?
Drema, I have been writing poetry for a long time. The prose in every letter I write and the crucial one-stanza poem on every Christmas card I send out to those special people in my life. But of those, I never keep track.
In the last three years, I’ve been intentional–jotting down poem after poem that occupies my waking hours and revisiting often–and with this poetry collection, once I started moving in the direction of publishing, I had to weigh out and physically separate the ones I hoped would make it into a book.
A year ago, when I signed with my Editor, Experiments In Fiction, I was about to turn sixty and so used that number as the cut-off for the book. My Editor was generous to allow it and so with that in mind, I began composing a list of the ones I felt close to the most. They turned out to be the most relevant to where I stand at the moment.
The short answer to your question is one year. One year of trying to make each of the 60+ selected poems less clunky to the best of my capabilities. Of course, they went through a morphosis after I presented them to the Editor for the first time–She actually made them sing to a much better tune.
3. What was the most difficult poem in your book to write and why?
Little Vessel was the most difficult one, emotionally. As I expressed in my notes in the book, the poems are not autobiographical, except for one or three that made the cut. Little Vessel came from a true story I followed with a heavy heart on the news when a little boy went missing from his home.
It was the rainy season here in Japan and after his bath, the mother turned to his older little sister to finish drying her hair–An everyday routine. Well, no one can tell why that little soul chose to sneak out of his home to venture out in the rain, but he did. And what happened next is anyone’s guess. What was believed to be his little body (the vessel that housed his soul) was recovered weeks later.
This was difficult because when one of my babies was little, we had a similar scare. I took my older child to Sunday morning services and left the small one home because he had a runny nose. Dad stayed behind and they lay together sleeping. But the little one awoke and “probably” finding his big brother gone, decided to go out to investigate. We spent a horrendous half-day looking for our baby.
Ever since that, I relate to every incident I hear of a child gone missing. And so, that’s why that poem was hard to write.
4. What do you hope that readers get from your beautiful collection?
A moment’s delight and I hope that readers find a glimmer of awareness that poetry is not a puzzle to decipher but a tool that offers a respite, or a much-needed long sigh in the intricacies of the day.
I’ll take a detour to further explain: My late mother was an accomplished knitter, and I pompously assigned such a hobby to old people: Old, like a child sees one’s parents, that is. And then some time ago, I found such comfort when I ventured out to give it a try. I’ll have you know that I redeemed myself by spending a summer with my mother coaching me in a project that meant so much to her. The amazing thing is that I found the hours counting stitches and perfecting with yarn soothing, enlightening, and redeeming like I’d never imagined before.
I went on to knit many scarves that I gave out as Christmas presents and though it wasn’t my ultimate goal, this small act made my mother very happy. And me too.
Today, I’ve put yarn and yarn needle aside for the pen, and have decided to purl stitch in words. Poetry. Poetry that I hope delights and brings moments of quiet, like knitting does, to anyone who will give it a moment’s attention.
5. You mentioned that you started journaling to an imaginary pen pal. What role did this imaginary pen pal play in your creative process, and how did it shape your writing style? Do you now have real pen pals?
Writing to an imaginary pen pal afforded me the luxury to relax into a stream-of-consciousness kind of writing where I emptied my mind onto the page.
Today I have pen pals–quite a few, actually–as that’s what I call my newsletter subscribers.
A while back in a networking class I took, I learned about newsletters: a tool used by businesses and organizations to share relevant and valuable information with their network of customers, prospects, and subscribers. Newsletters give you direct access to your audience’s inbox, allowing you to share engaging content, promote sales, and drive traffic to your website.
This is what a newsletter is but to me, this trendy idea sounds like writing letters and nurturing friendships– like what pen-palling is–and so I got right to business asking people on WordPress if anyone was interested in being my pen pal. And a few dozen responded. I am the luckiest and happiest for this.
((And if you don’t mind me saying this here Drema, I am forever grateful to have You as one of my valuable pen pals since November 2019–How time flies–thanks so much)).
6. “I wish you miracles” is a lovely phrase you often use. Could you tell us more about why you choose to end your communications with this sentiment? Is there a particular significance or story behind it?
There is a story behind this. *wink-wink* and it’s directly connected to the reason why I love it when my birthday comes every year. I know there are people who’re hush-hush about birthdays–not me and you’ll never hear a complaint about aging from me–not when I know how every year of my life contributed to a miracle my mother, with my creator’s help, helped make come through. And as this chariot that is my body takes me into another year, I’ll be reminiscing, embracing, and becoming my new year.
I still remember the many birthday eves I lived through– going to sleep early so that my birth date came faster. And then to awake to a lovely homemade birthday cake Mom produced while I slept. I do! And the addition of one more candle–pride-inducing. IT made me feel as light as a birthday balloon then, and though I don’t do the balloon thing
anymore, I still feel the lightness.
Here’s that “story”–I’m a collateral wonder.
I should have been a January baby but I couldn’t wait to meet the humans assigned to me that I found my way out at the end of October.
But no one was ready for me in October. And my poor mother, who’d lost her first baby– my big sister– after a similar premature birth, was sent home with the eye-peeling words, “She won’t make it.” It was 1962.
But my mother believed in miracles and fought the urge to accept the good doctors’ predicament. She kept hope alive, trusted her gut, believed in the goodness of the little bundle she took home and spent every waking moment in the pursuit of proving the doctors wrong.
And by God, she succeeded! How’s that for collateral?
At every birthday, my mother would tell me how much she appreciated the miracle that I was and how glad she was to prove those doctors wrong. I cherished her words and grew up believing that I was a miracle and how lucky I was to be one.
My mother was no angel, but she gave birth to a miracle and reminded me of that every year, guiding me the best way she knew how. Under her guardianship, I learned to feel the pulse of the earth under my feet and discern miracles in everything. And everyone, so please accept the words and the wish I wish for you.
Be advised, though, that it is you who generates those miracles, not I, as I’m merely the one who’s reminding you that miracles are for real–as real as a breath of fresh air that you cannot see.
My dear mother resides in heaven now, and as I near another birthday, I hear the lovely words again. This is enough to take my breath away.
On my special day, which comes on October 29th, I get to make a wish, and that wish will be the same one I wish everyone in my correspondence and blog posts: I wish you miracles.
Hear it often enough, and you too will start to see the miracle that you are. You are collateral wonder too!
Mom’s lovely words still float me every October & keep me afloat through the year. In time, I’ll be closer to where my higher power resides.
7. Your middle name, Selma, means “peaceful and complete,” and you describe it as an affirmation that complements the joy you feel when you write. Can you share a moment when you felt particularly connected to this affirmation while writing?
Always! Writing puts me in a peaceful mood. Counting syllables, like counting stitches, or just rhyming or researching words completes me. It’s just what it is and really, the more I write the more complete I feel. I know that in time, I will be closer to my full potential and that excites me tremendously.
8. You seem eternally optimistic. What is the source of your warm energy that you share with the world?
I’m glad you asked that, Drema. And I hope you don’t see this part of me as woo-woo as this might just sound to some as cliche, but at the end of the day, when I check to see that the knob on my analog alarm clock is set to ON, I say thanks to the old-fashioned thing and then, “See you in the morning.”
In the morning upon hearing the clock’s muffled ring (muffled because I’ve wrapped a few rubber bands on the bell portion; the original infallible vibration of the artifact eventually came to sound too urgent for slow rising), I say thanks to it again and this time tell it, “It’s gonna be another fantastic day!” I’m an optimist, and you’ll always find me whispering to inanimate objects too.
I’ve just outlined for you how I end and start my day, fully aware that this doesn’t answer the question but trust me when I tell you that putting gratitude at the top of your list will open you up to a mindset that’s shunned by many today. So, in my eccentric way and with as few words as possible, without referencing what the dictionary says optimism is, I want to tell you about optimism as I understand it.
When American poet Emily Dickinson wrote the poem “Hope” and referred to it as a feathered thing that perches in the soul of humans, I’m sure her message bloomed from optimism–a fleeting capacity that humans cultivate and rely on in times of need.
And that she likened this human trait to a bird is appropriate–It describes the fleeting nature of hope which is personified as a bird: a bird sings regardless of its circumstances because that is what birds do. Optimism is hope, simple as that.
It’s the hope one has when one sets an alarm clock before retiring for the night. Hope that the clock will do what it’s supposed to do but more importantly that you will wake up to turn it off and get to live through another day simple as that. That’s what optimism is.
Where does it come from? From my innate human capacity to believe. To believe that things just don’t magically happen–I need to set the stage, employ the mindset or fertile ground if you will, for it to take root. All humans have the capacity for this. And endowed with such capacity the only prerequisite would be to be willing to interpret “the why” to satisfy a positive anticipated result. It’s a practice, a hack as the term goes, but optimism is that bird that changes subjective reality and affects your objective reality.
First, you change your subjective reality; that’s the only one you have control over. Subjective reality is the world in here (touches temple): the world of the mind, emotions, and feelings. It’s composed of one’s own thoughts, opinions judgments, and emotions. Working from your inner world changes how you see the world out there. So if you want to tap into an optimistic mindset, nourish the little feathered thing, and with a heart full of gratitude, let the little bird fly.
There are two realities:
Objective reality – “the world out there”. The world of your senses
Subjective reality – “the world in here”. the inner world of the mind. The world of emotions and feelings. It is composed of one’s own thoughts, opinions judgments, and emotions.
9. What is your writing process? As in, when you do write, do you have writing rituals? Do you write in a certain spot? Do you drink coffee or tea while you write, etc.?
I don’t have a ritual but feel I should. Some days when I write I don’t do anything else, and that involves exercising and eating. This is bad.
And then there are those days when I do not write a word and spend the entire day walking and eating and discovering things. Good or bad, hard to say, but I’m really trying to form better habits when it comes to planning out my days to do a little bit of all the necessary things that done well, should complete me indeed.
And when I write I do so in a nook in my kitchen where I have an assortment of my favorite books.
I drink two cups of coffee with soymilk every morning and for the rest of the day, I drink barley tea. Wine is reserved only for weekends.
10. Do you intend to write another collection of poems? Why or why not?
Yes, I do, because why not…
So many, many thanks, Selma, for allowing us to interview you. I think we can all say that we know you and your touching poetry better now.
The holidays are coming, so reader, buy copies of Selma’s lyrical book for you and your loved ones. You can learn more about Selma and sign up for her newsletterwith this link: http://eepurl.com/giYKIv . If you’d like to read a sample of it first, you can here: http://eepurl.com/iCb9rU . Her website is https://selmamartin.com/ .
Wishing you all the best and a belated Happy Birthday, dear Selma!
We’re in the thick of fall, and I’m resigned to it, nay, am even enjoying it. Barry and I have jumped on the “spookify a thrift shop painting” bandwagon and had a marvelous time doing it. (Can you guess which painting additions is whose?)
Barry brought home not one, not two, not three, but FOUR huge pumpkins for us. Barry is a “go big or go home” kinda guy. I’m not mad about it.
Oh, and I also bought a cute little toy castle and turned it into a haunted one with spray paint and lights.
I can’t say why we have been so smitten with fall; I suppose it has something to do with the whole redecorating of the house thing.
We visited some dear friends recently, a writer (my Writing Mother, actually) and her partner, a musician, and the musician made us the most wonderful Italian recipe featuring bowtie pasta (farfalle, of course) and fresh sage.
The other three of us were ensconced on the back porch, talking about books when the chef walked through with a bouquet of sage from the pot of it he grows on their deck. The savory scent followed close behind him, and I stopped talking to absorb the fragrant cloud.
The dish was a revelation of buttery bowtie and creamy gorgonzola, gently overlaid with thin ribbons of sage; I have the ingredients in the refrigerator right now to make over the weekend. I hope he doesn’t mind having shared his recipe from his internship in Italy many years ago. I couldn’t resist trying to figure it out as we were eating it.
Now I must, must share a recent episode of our podcast, MFA Payday, with you because it features a man I call THE MOST DELIGHTFUL HUMAN I KNOW. I met him first in England, and I told Barry he would adore him if he met him. I was thrilled when they met in Japan, and yes, they got along just as well as I thought they would. There they were, almost immediately chattering away about The Submariner. You know, from the comic book.
Anyway, the delightful human Larry Brenner, screenwriter extraordinaire, and another Spalding graduate (automatically writing family) that we have never met in person but now feel connected to, author and documentarian Andie Redwine, host a podcast, Once Upon a Disney. That voice!
I have listened to nearly every episode of their podcast, and I can’t tell you how much fun it is to listen to the two of them break down the films and analyze them from a literary perspective with plenty of wit along the way.
Quick side story: When I went to England, I had just completed taking a World Lit class in which the professor said that someday we, the students, would be at a party and someone would bring up Candide. I sincerely doubted that would ever happen to me, but as I stood in a pool on the rooftop of the Bath Spa, a glass of champagne in my hand, I heard two men talking about Candide. One of them was Larry, and I laughed, said not a word about it, and sipped my champagne. But I thought, “Of course.” It was a magical trip on so many levels.
Anyway, while I do tell that story to Larry for the first time on our episode, I promise there won’t be a quiz on the novel, so please take a listen to our episode with them. Barry and I truly enjoyed it.
It was my turn at the mic on this episode of MFA Payday.
We ended up recording the episode three different times due to technical difficulties. I hope you’ll enjoy hearing Barry ask me questions and listening to me do a bit of reading from my book. (I really, really like the Woolf Conference scene, so I read a portion of it on the show.)
You don’t need me to add my bio information here, do you? Or where to buy my book? You probably already know me or you wouldn’t be over here. (But if you haven’t bought my book, feel free to now!)
Listen to the interview conducted by the ever-patient Barry Drudge here!
A friend and I went for coffee one afternoon last week and encountered magnificent pumpkins, mums, AND a hot air ballon in the distance! (Look above the trees.) It was just gorgeous out. We ended up laughing so hard.
Around town recently, I spotted once again this wonderful old hotel that I would love to make into a retreat for writers!
Here’s hoping you enjoy the interview with me! And if you’re an MFA graduate or you are in the publishing business, we’d love to interview you. Go to http://www.mfapayday.com and reach out via our contact form.
What are you most looking forward to this fall? I am going to make a wreath that I can’t wait to attempt.
This is the story of how my accidental writing hiatus turned into an accidental home improvement extravaganza.
But first, a couple of pieces of great news. One, Southern-Fried Woolf is a Semi-Finalist (to date) in Literary Fiction, The Best of Indie, 12th Annual Kindle Book Awards. Huzzah!
The second is something I’ve been waiting for the right time to share. Publisher’s Weekly offers a contest for self-published books through BookLife. The contest is called BookList. (Those who have made it through to the next round will be announced in October, I think. Fingers crossed.) Here is an excerpt from the first reader’s remarks:
…The author expertly depicts the protagonist’s internal struggle, her war between head and heart. The prose here, and the narration in particular, is top-notch. Southern Fried Woolf offers sparkling originality and layers of psychological depth. The author does a superb job of bringing the reader into Briscoe’s head. The unusual juxtaposition of music and literature lends a fresh edge to the storytelling…
I’m blown away! I can’t believe that little freak of a story that took over my life for so long is finding readers, especially since I wrote it for myself, above all. Then for Woolf lovers. And for those who don’t know Woolf, to pull them in, hopefully, to her world. Lily Briscoe, in Woolf’s To theLighthouse, is this soulful artist who attempts to understand life and society’s expectations with her paintbrush. I get that. And in the end, she has her vision. I reckoned I could have mine too if I sat long enough at the computer. I have.
I’m here to tell you that it takes fifteen years, start to finish, to have some visions. And that’s okay, because once you have, you have. And that’s a trip to the lighthouse worth taking.
SFW took a trip to the beach this summer. 🙂
Anyway…
Bringing Order to Chaos: The Saga of House & Home
The hustle and bustle of our spring decluttering frenzy (and I do mean frenzy; as soon as I started feeling better after my long bout of bronchitis, it was everything out! Out, out, out!) met home projects. What started as a minor touch-up project quickly escalated into a full-blown home makeover, as such things are wont to do. The vision of serene spaces with cozy vibes has become a guiding notion. Between corralling long-forgotten keepsakes and diving headfirst into the world of color palettes, my hands have been busier than my keyboard. (Still trying to figure out what to do with all. our. photos.)
We aren’t finished yet but are trying to complete our outdoor projects in the next few weeks before colder weather sets in. I’m repainting a cool metal outdoors patio set I found at a local antique store so I can create my own outdoors writing area. Take that, cafes that close and break my heart!
Color Me Inspired
Never one to be shy of color, things have gotten even more colorful around here! First up on the transformation agenda was the stand of fence along our carport. Armed with first a scrub brush and then a paintbrush, I sent dull days packing. And oh, the lights we added! They turn evenings into something out of a fairy tale. Who knew a bunch of bulbs could wield so much magic?
Curious about the white pickets at the base of the fence? That’s my attempt to keep the leaves, dust, and trash from blowing in under the fence. I’m always griping about how filthy it is there, and we have to clean it all the time or it looks gross quickly. Here’s hoping it does the trick. I don’t think we’ll really know until all of the leaves come down.
And speaking of magic, let’s talk about doors. Decked out in shades of Grecian blue, these doors unified our street, as most of our neighbors also sport blue doors. (I did not start the trend, only saw it and raised it from a whisper to a yell. LOL.) The photo below is the door in progress, before I finished it. The dark blue is painter’s tape.)
Peeling Back Memories: The Wallpaper Chronicles
Ah, the downstairs bathroom. If you’ve been in our house at all you’ve heard me apologize and complain about how badly it has needed redecorating FOR YEARS. That wallpaper – oh boy, that wallpaper – had stories to tell. The movie Bewitched featuring Nicole Kidman boasts the same wallpaper, and if memory serves, that was set in the 60’s, wasn’t it?! Which came first, the movie or the wallpaper? (That is, was our wallpaper designed in the 60’s and Bewitched merely mimicked an older design, or was this paper a faux 60’s product from the movie? My bet is that it’s much older than the 2005 movie!)
As I took on the challenge of removing those layers of the past, I uncovered a blank canvas. A canvas begging for fresh paint (yellow, thank you very much) and a new narrative. It’s still in progress, but it’s so much closer. No fair peeking yet.
I can’t believe I’m going to show you the wallpaper I stripped, but I have to. It’s so, so ugly! Are you ready for this? (I didn’t put the wallpaper up to begin with, I must say!)
HERE IT IS! UGH!!! Trust me, it was even worse in person, yellowing and curling down at the top.
A Porch with a Twist
While the world was swirling around me, I found an unexpected sanctuary right on my porch. It’s as if a sprinkle of coffeehouse magic landed on it. With a touch of creativity and a sprinkle of personal flair, our porch has become a haven of inspiration. The dunes poster we bought and framed had me clapping for joy – we’ve been talking about getting one for some time. It’s amazing how crafting a cozy nook can ease the pangs of nostalgia left behind by a beloved coffeehouse. (But wait…WAIT! NEWS!)
The Future Unveiled: The Coffeehouse Chronicles
Hold onto your mugs because news is afloat that a new coffeehouse is opening soon, right in the same spot that was once my writing refuge. Will it capture the same spirit? Will it offer the same comfort? Will it welcome writers? Only time will tell, but I’m ever hopeful.
In the meantime, I have been channeling my dearly departed Uncle Jim (also a writer) who once told me after we’d talked for an hour on the phone, “Now get back to writing!” He meant to abandon my lesser project and get back to the page. He was right; he always was. So I’m getting back to writing!
I miss him…I got to see all three of my cousins, his precious daughters, recently, in from Illinois and Texas. They all look so much like him that I just couldn’t help but cry when we talked of him.
Embracing the Beautiful Chaos
As we navigate through this whirlwind of eldercare and emotional tides (so much extended family stuff going on, but we’ve got this, right? Right?…), Barry and I take time now and again to breathe and watch the neighborhood “wildlife.” And what I mean by that is the squirrels, birds, and a few odd cats that wander the streets. They’re still pretty entertaining.
So, as we juggle all the things (as everyone must), I’m learning to dance with the chaos, embracing each twist and turn as part of this beautiful, messy, and utterly unpredictable ride we call life.
Now it’s time to go hang our new bird feeder. It’s a modest one, but I expect it will bring us hours of entertainment and inspiration. At any rate, there’s the dream of that, which is nearly as good, isn’t it?
Recently, Barry and I had a fascinating conversation with Helen Zuman. You can hear about her writing, her decision to not complete her MFA, and Common App, her WIP that I am just wild to get my hands on. She also shares about her memoir, Mating in Captivity.
Psst…she was also my mindset coach for a bit, and a very good one!
I am hard at work (play?) over here on novel number three, but more blog posts coming in the next week or so…at least I hope so. Holiday weekends are fun but not great for producing things, am I right?
I am very sincere on the episode when I say I MUST read Helen’s novel when it’s completed!! Wait until you hear her description of it…I think you’ll join me in my anticipation. Give our episode with Helen a listen. Note: NSFW.
Helen Zuman, photo courtesy of Helen Zuman.
Helen’s Bio:
After graduating from Harvard in 1999, Helen Zuman joined a cult—oops!—stayed for five years, then composted the stinky guck of that experience into fertile soil via Mating in Captivity, her award-winning memoir. Next, she published What Is a Sex Cult? How Cults Reveal Our Culture. As of 2023, she is working on a novel, provisionally titled Common App, in which a college application essay editor compromises the Republicrat candidate’s chances of winning the 2024 presidential election by taking creative license with his son’s Common App Personal Statement. Born in London and raised in Brooklyn, Helen currently homesteads with her husband in Beacon, New York, while dreaming of her next trip to Scotland. She listens to her favorite song, “Scotland the Brave,” three times a day. To stay in touch, sign up for her email list at helenzuman.com.
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