A Fine Frenzy - Almost Lover

Fighting the urge for....

The KINDLE.   Those who know me...yup...the dark side is tempting me.

I love books...TRADITIONAL books.  Creased paper, ink, the smell, the blessed tactile feel of its pages and cover as I crack it open the first time, and the way it looks on my shelf (well actually shelves, LOTS of shelves).

But one can't help but wonder...what it would be like to carry all of them, your whole blasted library with you...until you drop it, step on it, or have to face the terrible fate that all nifty gadgets succumb to at one time or the other...glitch for no reason.  Then I'll spend more time trying to fix the problem than read its content.  Also, I'll have to replace it with the Kindle 4th, 5th, and 6th generation as time goes by.  Yeesh!

But still....

All I want for Christmas....for now

I'm addicted to British Mysteries:  31 hours of bliss!

ACCENTUATE THE POSITIVE ~ Johnny Mercer & The Pied Pipers .wmv

Sometimes it's hard to determine what will make you truly happy.  I hope I find it soon.

Cooking...not my favorite thing, maybe one day I'll enjoy the process.

BLACKENED SHRIMP

1 lb. shrimp, shelled & deveined 1/2 c. oil 6 cloves garlic 2-3 tbsp. Blackened Seasoning 1 lb. shrimp, shelled & deveined 1/4 lb. of melted butter 1/2 c. oil 6 cloves garlic 2-3 tbsp. Blackened Seasoning Put seasoning and garlic in  a small bowl. Dredge shrimp through the mixture. Place a large skillet over a very high heat, and melt the butter. Place the shrimp in the skillet and turn heat down to medium. Cook on both sides for approximately 7 minutes (maybe less) each- pay attention to the shrimp as they cook quickly; when the shrimp curl, they are done. Optional – sprinkle the vegetables with the spice mix and sauté in the butter in the same skillet.

Should be easy right?   Read on...


I will be the first to admit that cooking is not in my repertoire of skills I excel at very well.  It's not that I haven't tried, more like it just is not meant to be.  Growing up, my mother made sure meals were always on the table, ready to be devoured by her always hungry brood.  These delectable dishes made their appearance without much help from my father, brother, or myself because mother liked the sanctuary of her kitchen undisturbed by any of us.

One of my favorite dishes was her blackened shrimp.  When I moved out and got my first apartment, I was determined at twenty-two to finally conquer the mystery of cooking this dish, my favorite one since I was ten.  I was living two states away and wouldn't be enjoying those spicy, melt-in-your-mouth morsels anytime soon.

Wandering through the grocery store, my excitement was building to a fevered pitch as I placed ingredient after ingredient in my cart.  Even though this was my first attempt at cooking it, my over confidence in my abilities led me to invite my boyfriend, Adam over to enjoy the meal.

“You’ll be eating good tonight,” I promised.

 “Okay,” he responded, reluctantly.  

I couldn’t blame him– memories of the last time I burned, I mean cooked dinner were still fresh in both our minds. 

“Don’t worry,” I reassured him.  “It’s my mother’s recipe.” 

“Okay,” he said again, more positively since having tried her cooking at Thanksgiving the year before, indelibly left a pleasant culinary imprint in his mind. They had much in common because the kitchen was Adam’s friend too since his cooking rivaled my mother’s at times.  His mother had taught him well.

I worked quickly to clean the shrimp and yummy spices were mixed in a bowl until the smell permeated the air causing me to sneeze a good ten minutes.  Definitely a good sign, I thought to myself, as I mixed the shrimp into the bowl.

Adam arrived just as the large black iron skillet, my mother gave me when I left, was hot and steaming.  I smiled at him as I emptied the bowl slowly and spreading the shrimp in a single layer.  “Seven minutes on each side,” my mother’s voice magically whispered in my ear, as I carefully made sure I didn’t flip them too soon.

The little smoke at first did not alarm me.  I figured a little smoke was normal, but certainly not a thick, dark blanket of smoke that overtook my kitchen in a matter of seconds.  Adam, whom was relaxing on the sofa, beer in hand heard my squeal and immediately burst into the kitchen and opened the front door to let the smoke out.   

Living in a high rise, the smoke went into the hall and set off the main fire alarm in the whole building.  The state-of-the-art alarm system, complete with an automated voice, directed people outside as the security guard made his way to my floor and finally my opened door with smoke still pouring outside. 

“Everything okay?” he shouted over the alarm, the resident manager wanting a status update yelled over the walkie talkie the guard held in his hand.

“I was cooking,” I said, my face red with embarrassment. 

“Cooking, huh? Smells good despite the black smoke,” he smiled, obviously feeling sorry for me and thankful it was nothing more serious.  “She was cooking,” he yelled into the walkie talkie, as the alarm shut off soon after. 

“Tell her not to do it again,” the resident manager responded.

Closing the door, Adam tried not to laugh and held me.  “I can’t even cook a simple shrimp dish!”  I cried, frustrated at the thought of having to live on microwave dinners for the rest of my life.  

“Don’t worry, that’s what I’m here for.”  Adam said soothingly.  “How about I do the cooking from now on? And you do the dishes.”     

“Deal.” I agreed, relieved.

Years later, Adam still does most of the cooking.  I feel blessed at having such patient husband whose friendship with the kitchen has flourished.  He is always experimenting with new dishes and refining old ones.  

I brave the kitchen and cook from time to time, the few dishes turn out quite well and thankfully I am not setting off anymore fire alarms.

When I do cook, my husband requests one dish in particular...blackened shrimp.

"Our greatest glory is not in never failing, but in rising up every time we fail."  


Ralph Waldo Emerson

Stereotyping in the Gated Community

People say that stereotyping is unfair.  I've come to realize that stereotypes are there for a reason, and for the most part, are based on some truth.  Take any neighborhood.  You will always have those fascinating cast of characters that one comes to expect:  the gossip, the tramp, the old crazy neighbor, etc,.  I almost feel I'm watching (or more like living) a remake of "The Burbs" with Tom Hanks.

For me, I live in a gated community.  No...I am not uber-rich, those are the people that live in the gigantic mansions on the golf course when you first pass through security.  I live in the back where the townhouses are lined up in a cute rows that form a square.  And yes, I'm just grateful to have a home.

That being said, the only thing that I hate is the feeling that people are always in your face, even if there are not there physically in front of you.  You can just feel them staring at you when you get out of the car, when you go to the car, when you stand outside your front door, or even just when you are trying to make that little square of grass allotted to you into some semblance of a garden, they are there...watching.

And you know that while watching you, they are speculating on what you do, who you are dating, how many people you're sleeping with by the number of "guests" you have parked in the parking lot (thankfully, I don't have that problem since I'm married) but I'm sure they find something to speculate about my husband or myself when they see us.

Our little square is really like a small town: you got the gossip (the little old lady whose husband works in the days, so being retired, herself, she has nothing better to do that to observe her neighbors and spread what she's learned to others in the neighborhood; by the way, don't tell her you're going out of town or the WHOLE square will know and alert their burglar friends); the white-trash family (please remove the garbage in the front yard and stop yelling at your eight kids at the top of your lungs); the token minority family (and BEFORE you email me that I'm racist or anything.  I'm just making an OBSERVATION!) the temptress who sashays around the square flipping her long, naturally curly hair and feels the need to talk to ALL the men and ignore the women; the odd woman, I call her "Loopy Lucy," who walks around STARING at all the houses or you, if your out and NEVER says anything, who also likes to wear long white dresses, even now that it's fall (and who probably lives with 50 cats and has buried her husband in the basement), the two couples that are the best of friends living side by side, but are probably sleeping with one another spouses ( because they're reliving the 70's and are swingers) and you think this because of how friendly they are to each other, and finally the nice young couple who recently had a baby, but still feel the stigma of not being married and living in sin even though it's 2010.  (I have surmised that this stigma still exists due do to the little old lady informing me when I was watering my roses that the girl was expecting and "she's not married!" stressing the "not married")

All of this makes me wonder what they say about us.  My husband leaves for work, comes home, and jogs around the neighborhood.  Pretty boring.  We never yell or fight (or at least loud enough for people to hear), I work from home, so my car is always outside (that probably REALLY throws them off!)  We have a nice little garden, keep to ourselves, and are polite when spoken to.  Hmmm. Who knows, the old lady has probably told them she's seen our picture on "America's Most Wanted"  (No, we are not wanted!)

Recently, I told my husband I want to move to Alaska next year.

Can't wait!!

I've learned that I'm still a procrastinator.  Darn!  Week 1 of Nanowrimo is over.  After all my planning and preparation to stay on top of the 1667 words per day goal- I am only just over 2000 total.  I know...I know...bad, bad girl!

I think my fear is holding me back.  The fear that I might fail at this endeavor, but more likely, its the fear of success.  I might actually finish something that is different that I've ever written under my usually carefully controlled methods of writing that I have incorporated into my life.

Just let go, K.D and enjoy the ride!

National Novel Writing Month...Yeah

I have embarked on my novel writing journey for Nanowrimo!  I'm so excited and exhausted...and it's ONLY Day 2!  Oh well, I've never loved a reason for being exhausted more.

Also...I'm doing Robert Lee Brewer's PAD Challenge at the same time.


I know..... CRAZY!  Good Luck to all writers this month and always!

Autumn

Thankfully this year I didn't get lost...with a little help from GPS.

Now on to "picking your own pumpkin," really though, I could have just bought one at the grocery store, but why not?  What could compare with sitting on a large square chunk of hay of hay poking you the ass and trudging through mud, then lugging a 20 pound pumpkin back to buy it?

Maybe a root canal...(okay, I admit it, I'm not a nature girl, but at least I tried...)

But I cannot deny that I love Autumn in general.  You can feel a distinctive change in the air.  The monotonous green leaves suddenly display their personality with beautiful colors of yellow, red, and orange.

Happy National Poetry Day

I spent the day with E.E. Cummings. 

My personal favorite:

somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility:whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands

Distractions

Distractions are everywhere.  Please leave me alone!  I can't seem to just sit and write.  Maybe it's the obsessive-compulsive in me that can't ignore something not clean or out of place.  Arrrrh!  Monk and I would have been great friends.

My screenplay is going slow, but I have a story, and most importantly, I have a character.  I love when they start talking to you:  telling you their lives, desires, disappointments, and secrets.  Oh...the secrets are the best.

There is so little time write it all down, but instead of looking at that as a bad thing, it's really good.  At least I got a lot to write, hopefully people will want to read it. 

My TV writing class started this week.  Yes, three classes at once (I'm also taking Poetry).  My husband asks if I'm crazy.  Sometimes I am and isn't it great.

Bright Eyes - Lua

I feel the pain in his voice...this song stirs something in me. It's intoxicating--slow down and listen to the words.  Conor is an incredible musician.

Johnny Miller

I dreamed of you.  I don’t know why, it’s been so long- eight years.  Then to actually to run into to you was like the Fates trying to tell me something, but I’ve grown deaf to their advice for sometime now.  Seeing you brought back those memories, sometimes not so nice memories.  I secretly loved you. It grew in the time that we knew each other, became great friends, and finally, roommates.  After a while, I felt your love, back.  But unfortunately, I was with Brian, your friend long before you knew I was alive.   The three of us in one house…oh, if only reality television was big back then…

We had a connection, of that I was sure.  A deep one that humans search an entire life for and usually never find.  You know, it goes by many names:  knight in shining armor, companion, lover, partner, soul-mate.  You were some of those things. You were more.

You brought out the best and worst in me, sometimes both at the same time.  But through it all, you accepted me for what and who I was- mistakes and all.  And you never expected me to change, in fact, you didn’t want me to change anything.  God, I loved you for that.  That quality is so difficult to find.  It’s amazing how people want you to change for them the minute they have you.  Brian wanted me to change everything.  Why did he want me, to begin with, anyway?  Why couldn’t I’ve met you first?

If only I had met you first; if only we weren’t afraid of telling Brian how we felt about each other.  Fear and guilt entered our minds and those demons were stronger than our love.  If only we realized that not saying anything would divide us forever.  You married a woman that you despise now.  I stayed with Brian until I nearly destroyed myself.  If only we realized where our fear would lead us to.  Would we have changed anything?

Curiosity is a human’s thorn, deeply embedded and very difficult to pull out with out leaving a scar.  Do you think of me sometimes, at all?  Do you think of what might have been if we’d give in and damned them all to hell?  On rare occasions I think of you, those times, and what might have been.

I now look at the man I eventually married, long after you, and I’m grateful. So damned grateful, because everything turned out just as it should be.  I’m sorry yours didn’t.  And as for Brian— who the hell cares!

Scenes from a public bathroom

It’s an upscale mall in the 'burbs.  It’s the kind of place where the bathrooms are marble and granite.  Where even the most serious sufferers of germaphobia could actually relax…at least for a while.  I fall into that group of germaphobics.

After I take a pee, I diligently wash my hands in the nice large, marble sink with lots of divinely smelling soap.  The paper towels are folded and stored near the sink for easy reach--placed in a cut-out niche in the marble.

A woman with long, blond hair washes her hands at the same time. We read over for a paper towel at the same time.

“Oh, go ahead,” I say, smiling.

“No, you go.”  She looks at me oddly as if I’m strange for being polite.

“Uh, okay…” I grab the paper towel and wipe my hands.

She is looking around like she’s pondering how she got there.
“Is this our only option?” she queries, waving her hands towards the paper towels as they’ve offended her somehow.

“Pretty much.”

Sigh….”Fine!” She storms out.

A painting of "The Lady of Shallot" by Waterhouse.  The poem, written by Alfred Lord Tennyson, would send delightful shivers down my spine when I would recite it.  Poor Elaine, dying of heartbreak.  Loving Lancelot and never having it returned.

The poem was also made popular by Anne Shirley in Kevin Sullivan's adaptation of "Anne of Green Gables" starring Megan Follows.

I recently found my copy of Idylls of the King, an incredible piece of work.  I am enjoying my visit with Tennyson.

"We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospection."
~Anais Nin

I was totally born in the wrong time!

1920's

From Poetry Class...

No Longer No More

Love no longer resides
In these walls, slowly torn
Day by day, hour by hour
Resentment no more
Lauds its power

These arms that held
You when there were tears;
These fingers that caressed
You and held your fears
Now find comfort in emptiness

The key turns after your gone
I hold my breath and wait
No bitter eyes to greet me;
No anger to torture me
I breathe in relief.

Scenes from Wednesday

My husband is off this week; it's so much fun to have him at home.   We woke up early and by mid-morning, I had the incredible urge for breakfast from McDonalds (those damn Egg McMuffins!)

The time:  10:30am.  Thirty minutes to scoot in the car and zoom two exits down to the nearest location.  My poor husband, relaxing in his cute PJ's with his laptop in his lap, jumped when suddenly I booked it down the stairs.

"I need a Egg McMuffin and I have 30 minutes to get there!"

"Uh..okay." he says, confused.  Usually I'm not up until noon.  Hey, I like sleeping late.  I throw at him a t-shirt and some shorts and head out the door (poor dear) as he trudges out behind me and we make record time to MickeyD's, thankfully just in time before breakfast ends.

Wal-mart is located in the same shopping center.  Why not be productive and get a few things for the house we need?  As we're munching on our yummy hash browns (the best part of the meal) we see a girl pushing her cart out to her car, bags fill to the brim, she did A LOT of shopping...damn girl...you go!

She puts everything in her new, black BMW, how nice, she looks 16.  (No, jealousy here, really, I love my 10 year old Volvo.)

Then she drives away.  The cart?  She leaves it directly BEHIND the truck parked next to her.  Not the at the side, the front, etc.  Who cares that the cart corral is two feet away?  I mean it's so far!!!

The large woman gets out of her car as we are walking past.  She pulls down her stretch pants to adjust her stockings in the middle of the open parking lot.

One: do I really need to see your butt crack at 11am?  And two: why are you wearing stockings when its 80 degrees out?

Wow. People amaze me; the things you miss when you sleep late.

If I could live anywhere, it would be here...

One of the many beautiful beaches--Cornwall, United Kingdom

St. Michael's Mount,Cornwall

Serious Purging

My husband is on vacation this week.  Are we going anywhere?  Nope.  I am using this week to PURGE.  Clothes, shoes, and the ever popular--junk-collected-over-the-years-that-you-swear-you'll-use-sometime.  Right now, I'm exhausted!  I've been doing the "100 thing challenge" mentioned earlier in another post.
They were right, it's easier said than done.

I cannot part with my books, which are many.  I count my books as ONE item...which is allowable according to many who are participating in this challenge.  I am proud of the eight large garbage bags of clothes and shoes that are now sitting in my station wagon ready to be donated to Goodwill.  My goal for day one:  whittle down my wardrobe to only two weeks worth of clothes.  God, laundry will be a breeze.  Wouldn't that be nice for a change?

Wanderings...

I have gypsy blood...not really.  That's what my father says to explain why I feel the need to move, change, reinvent my life, and the such.  When I had more time and less responsibilities in my youth, I would change my hair color from black to brown to red to blond to platinum in a two to three month cycle.  Now I settle for changing it up to a ponytail rather than wearing it down.  My hair is my natural color and, surprise! I don't miss weekly dye jobs.

But I still have the urge to move.  To venture to another state, hell, even another country (Britain). This urge that has gripped me since my youth doesn't seem to dissipate even in my 38th year.  Sometimes, it is easy to ignore that desire propelling me on some new adventure.  Recently, it's not so easy.  The urge is at at an all time high.  Now what?  We've just moved to another state two years ago and I really need to give it a chance.  I just miss the water. We used to live near the ocean, literally five minutes, but now it takes us two hours to reach the shore.

Maybe we'll be near the water again someday.

The Pierces - Secret

Scenes From The Beach

The sun sits high in the sky.  Shortly, it will be the the end of summer as people flock to the shore for Labor Day.  My husband and I are among the seagulls.  I kept meaning to go all summer but my procrastinating nature won out and we never seemed to make it.  Mainly, it's the "getting there" that is the problem; the drive that lasts two excruciating hours, mostly on the dreaded turnpike.  Nonetheless, we finally made it unscathed and, for that, I am thrilled.  I am even more thrilled that we found parking only two blocks from the beach.

We unload our plethora of things--I am obviously not a "beach towel only" kinda girl.  I need a minimum of a comfy beach chair, food and drinks, of course good reading material, and the vital--super, extremely large beach umbrella built in with SPF 50 protection (ain't it great they know how to do that?)  Hey, I'll be thanking myself in about 40 years when I don't look like a dried up piece of bacon.

We set up close to the water.  My husband gets the umbrella up and now I just sit and relax...or at least try to.  This is the perfect place to people watch. Also, there is a warm breeze thanks to a parting Hurricane Earl and if feels like heaven on my face.  Interesting people are all around: masses swarm the surf, diving head first, dangers be damned;  the large foreign group to the left speaking in quick, sharp tones; the loud family behind us with kids running around in nothing but diapers and hopefully lots of sunscreen; their cherubic faces are endearing as they squeal in delight and fear, both from the water and being chased their vigilant parents; all while two lifeguards sit in their lofty chairs gazing out to the water and hopefully watching for disasters as they flex their muscles to each other.

Must be nice to sit and be by the water all day.  Maybe I'm in the wrong profession, I think to myself until I see them leap off their perch, rip of their hoodies, and dive into the water--all very Baywatch, I might add (and hurrah! They are watching...I feel very safe now.)  I did find myself looking around for David Hasselhoff (guess he was busy that day.)  Cue the music...hey where is that red canister/floaty thing that they're supposed to have draped across their tan, sculpted bodies.  Oh, yeah, wait....this is not Hollywood I remind myself as the slightly pudgy one makes to the the struggling swimmer first.  The other lingers behind. Finally, they both pull out what appear to be a dead body.  Nah, it's a woman and obviously swimming is not her thing since she couldn't pull herself out of the ocean and was mercilessly bashed around by the waves.  Finally making it on the sand, she's just passes out.  They try to sit her up to no avail.  Poor dear, I think and tell myself to avoid the water.  No need to embarrass myself.  She is subsequently taken away to recover.

The crowd disperses and life goes on. I barely have time to relax next to my husband when a flying beach umbrella (never thought about using this as weapon before...interesting) takes flight and almost impales the kissing couple in front of us.  Yikes--a little to the left and we'd read about their unfortunate demise due to a cruel twist of fate in the morning papers.  Good thing the Gods were smiling on them.

I'm quite enjoying myself until I almost get my head bashed in by a soccer ball.  I immediately give the three dudes tossing it around an evil eye, but, of course they are oblivious to any inconvenience or potential harm they are causing others around them.  I mean, why stay further back on the sand where there are large, open places to play when you could position yourself closer to the shore and around other adults and small children?  I mean why be considerate?  After all, consideration and common courtesy are overrated.

I guess I've mastered my "look of death" since the oldest guy stares at me and eventually moves them back and away from people.  Or maybe it could have been the few choice words beginning with "f" and ending with "g" and don't forget the "bastards."  Hey usually I'm and nice person, until you almost take off my head with a soccer ball.  I kind of like my head.

I look over at my husband...still looking good... and hot, if I do say so myself.  Darn...if only there was no one on the beach...we'll just leave the rest of those thoughts alone...for now.

Instead, I lay back on my fancy beach chair.  Damn, this is nice, I think.  Until the little kid kicks sand on me...ahhh...beach life at its best.

Screenwriting 101--YIKES

Just started my screenwriting class at Gotham Writer's Workshop.  So far, I don't know which genre to lean towards.  It is certainly challenging to try to look at writing from a whole new perspective.  I look at my writing from the "inside out,", now I have to approach it from the "outside in."  Visual, visual, visual...is what it is all about. 

The great thing is now I have an excuse to watch MANY movies and not feel guilty that I should be writing instead of wasting time on watching mindless television or going to the cinema.

I initially picked the genre of comedy for my script.  What the hell was I thinking?  When I can watch anything, I usually grab a cup tea and biscuits, plop myself down in my comfy recliner, and engage in some delightful English murder mystery--Miss Marple, Hercule Poirot, Midsummer Murders, and my personal favorite, Inspector Lynley.  Well, either that or Hitchcock.

So again...comedy?  We'll see.  I might have to rethink and come up with some great mystery/suspense.  We'll see, I guess.  This should be interesting!

Living Simply...NOT An Easy Process

I really have too much crap.  God, I feel like I am drowning in it.  I ponder about people that lose their homes to fires and floods and think how absolutely horrible it must be for people, but maybe they can start fresh.  After all, humans are resilient creatures and there is no doubt that they will start over and build new lives. They are also not burdened by possessions. 

No, I do NOT want my house to burn down or be submerged under a great flood, not seen since the days of Noah.  On the other hand, I wish that can just get rid off all this crap without having to analyze every single piece that I own and ask the unavoidable question:  “Do I need this?” and then spend an inordinate amount of time trying to figure out if I do.

Why do I want to do this?  Because I am unhappy, as of late.  I want to work on my novel, yet when I sit down to do this, all I see and can focus on is the chaos around me.  I have the unexplainable urge to clean and organize, yet I have no space to put everything.

My husband and I used to live in a 500 sq. ft. apartment.  I used to complain how small it was, but really, it sure was a heck of a lot easier than living in a bigger place. (Less cleaning and less space for you to buy things.)  DON'T get me wrong, I am not trying to be ungrateful, on the contrary, I am so blessed to even HAVE a home, especially in these uncertain times.  I just think it deserves the same respect of being clean and organized so that its beauty can been seen without being hidden by things.

I am attempting to limit my items to 100 personal things.  Things are going slow, but I am making progress.  Six garbage bags of clothes and bags to donate.  Now on to the shoes….

Of course easier said than done!  But for me it is an essential step to freeing the mind, and a clear mind lets my me hear my muse a little better!

Timeless Beauty

The ocean never gets tiring for me.  The sound of the surf, the lonely beauty of the empty beach, and the blue green water that is endless.  I enjoyed this quiet and absolutely RARE time of solitude on my trip to the shore.

I wish I could put a desk right here and never leave. 

Soon fall and winter will be upon me and I will have to wait to enjoy the water once more.  Not being a fan of the cold and especially being cold near an ocean lends to the notion that I better get plenty more visits in!

Learning About Myself

I just completed an online workshop about Personal Essays.  I loved it!  I do journal everyday and have kept one since I was a child.  I particularly enjoy pulling out those old ones of so long ago. I laugh and sometimes cry at the person I was then; grateful for the improvements of now.

Taking this class was hard as I would have to open private parts of myself for strangers to read, but came to enjoy it and was so sad to see the class end.  I learned that as human beings we all struggle with the same things:  love, loss, fear, death of loved ones, etc.  It just changes form from one person to the other, but we can learn so much from each other if we are willing to share.

I think I will take the advanced class.  It's interesting to dig around in ones past, no telling what you might find.  Things have away of burying themselves so deep you fool yourself into thinking you didn't put them there in the first place.

Virginia Woolf Was Right! A Woman DOES Need A Room Of Her Own

My husband created a little writing office for me.  It's nice to have my own space instead of just writing on the couch, on the recliner, etc.  Now I can look out the window and take in the beauty of the big oak tree that sits in my backyard, while enjoying the sounds of children running and playing--their laughter is contagious.  

The moss green walls, the mahogany bookcases overflowing with knowledge of the eons, the little oak desk, and my stacks of journals all keep me company.  Such a delight and a small piece of heaven in this crazy world.  Thanks honey!

My muse seems to be on vacation

Where's Agatha?  On vacation I surmise due to fact that I am feeling totally burnt out!  I am working on several pieces, not to mention my class in script analysis just started.  Now I have to take some time to watch a couple of movies and write an outline about them.  Should be interesting.

It's been hot and humid in my neck of the woods.  How I long to just lay on the beach with a good book and read someone else other than myself.

I think I just need sleep....and Agatha to return.  It is hard to get the sentences just right.  Oh yeah, I named my muse.

Never Took A Writing Class Until Now...

I am a writer who never took a writing class. I know...I know. And I call myself a writer? Yes, I do. I may not have majored in a writing degree, but I did major in History. If you didn't know it,  history majors write till their fingers wither and disintegrate; in my case I have tough fingers!

All I did to obtain that wonderful little certificate, called a degree, from a big university was to write, write, write.  And if that were not enough, write some more.

My first big job reaffirmed this notion.  Soon after I was hired, I was handed a large stack of papers to research and in two weeks I was responsible for writing a federal grant.  Yikes!  I was told later that I was hired because I was a history major and it told my supervisor two things: I could write and I could research what I wrote.

Of course, there is that part of me that wanted to actually take a writing class. Just to see...maybe I was missing out on some fundamental that would make me a better writer.

My schedule is pretty full, thank the gods for the internet and online classes! I have been taking writing workshops from Writer's Digest and just signed up for Screenwriting at Gotham Writer's Workshop. Do I like them? You bet I do!

My advice to the newbie writer, or even someone who just wants to "brush up" on their skills....go for it.