Multnomah Falls, Oregon, USA
Like a needle with a thread
I moved to access your wakeful head,
Such knowledge have you at heart
but would not give me or impart,
perhaps attempts were great in number
causing you to go and slumber,
or maybe thus I have no key
to open you and give to me,
please think me not too selfish
just that you I want to cherish,
my hand on yours I transferred
then you said I was absurd,
I yanked my hand away
to try again some other day.
My favorite dish to cook is nachos. There is so much you can do with it, which makes it very versatile. I also enjoy trying new dishes. Just the other day I tried something called Sloppy Joe Cassarole. I found it on Pinterest if your interested in trying it out. It’s very good.
When love departs, let it go. Allow it to slip out the back door quietly, or allow it to smash the windows loudly. When love departs, kiss it on the forehead. Tell it you hope it comes back soon. Tell it you appreciate it and remind it of the beauty and growth it represents. When […]When Love Leaves — Be Inspired..!!
When asked if you enjoyed your childhood, I think we all can honestly say that our childhoods were a mixture of pleasant and unpleasant experiences. I enjoyed my childhood, and I didn’t. Yup, this goes for me too. Memories I will always smile upon are those involving all of the neighborhood kids playing together outside until dusk. My neighborhood had all the stereotypical kids in it. We had the bully, the spoiled girl who had to have everything her way but could be nice too at times. There was also the one kid who always had to cheat at games. Of course, everybody had their bad days. Don’t get me wrong, as a group, we had a great time.
Oftentimes, we’d all get together and play baseball games at David’s and Julie’s house in the backyard. We always played there because of the wide open field. Lots of room. Our dad’s would get involved, too, which made it doubly fun. Then, on one particular evening, I took a turn at being the pitcher. I liked this position, but the feeling of getting hit by the ball as it was smacked by the baseball bat was always present in my mind. Then, it happened. Strange. Julie was up to bat, and, just before I pitched the ball to her, I told her not to hit me. She told me she wouldn’t, so I pitched the ball to her. She hit, and it made a bee-line straight for my eye. It all happened so fast that I didn’t have time to duck.
At the time it wasn’t a fun experience, and Julie felt really bad about hitting me. But in our growing up years we all have occurrences such as this. It’s ok because they add flavor to our lives, and they give us something to reflect upon later. Maybe even to write about. At the same time, though, we have memories we wish we could forget. I do have one of those. I won’t write about it here, BUT in chapter one of my first book The Veil of Time, previously published under the title The Triunix of Time, I use that unpleasant memory. By using it in that way, I was able to put it to rest, and I gained a whole new perspective on the whole experience.
The gull took flight and pushed against wind,
then cocked its head, stared at me, and winked,
the absent minded upturn of the corners of my lips
spread wide across my cheeks, nodding as I did.
Its wings wafted as it hovered this way and that,
then dipped and swooped, clasping to its catch.
I moved my sight to play along the sinking horizon,
as a ship sat buoyant moving as a turtle not to liven,
yet reached its seismic body to impress upon my mind,
its depth and height, commanding a presence that aligned
an inner respect within my soul as my breath inhaled,
and gasped as nature stood and then impaled.
Thanks, I will be going now to breathe fresh air in June,
but not before I’ve spent the night a gazing at the moon,
needles of pine, spring scented rushing winds of fragrance,
and pushes me from side to side and sailing in a free dance,
filled with beauteous splendor, I cross my arms up close,
pinning to my mind the joy from you that flows,
Ever since I read a short story my elder sister wrote when I was a pre-teen, I wanted to write stories. Then I began reading mystery books for young adults and wanted to write even more. There was just one problem. I didn’t know how to go about doing that. At the time I didn’t understand there was a process or a particular structure in regards to writing a story let alone writing a book. After all, I was only 10.
In high school in one of my English classes, we were assigned to write a short story. Now, I don’t remember what the lesson was surrounding this assignment or if the teacher taught us an in depth lesson on how to write one, but I wrote one. My mom praised it and thought the world of it. I, however, was more critical of it. I felt there was more I needed to know. As I recall, I could have done more with my characters and added more conflict and/or suspense. I don’t remember what grade I received for the story, but I know it was a passing grade. I wouldn’t get back to writing creatively until my late 20’s.
During my hiatus the yearning to write a book was ever present in my mind. So between raising kids and a family, I read how to books on writing fiction. I tried to set pen to paper and start a but it fizzled out. The time wasn’t right. I had three kids (boys) and a husband, so that’s where my mind was at. My husband was in the Army, and, at one point, he was deployed to Saudi Arabia for Desert Shield/Desert Storm. His safety and the care of my three boys was first on my mind. At that time I still wanted to write a book, but I lacked the materials and opportunity to do so. That was ok. I was young and had plenty of time for writing later. In the meantime I lived life. Little did I know, it was only the beginning.
Ohhh the stories I could tell from that point onward…..