Catena Rondo Verse Form

This form is not as simple as I first thought it was. Serves me right for just skimming over the descriptions instead of reading them fully. LOL

The Catena Rondo is another form invented by fellow Canadian Robin Skelton. He got the name by combing catena, meaning chain, with rondo, meaning circle. The quatrains making up this form repeat, bringing it full circle.

This a stanzaic form, which lends itself very well to longer poems because of the repetition of lines. It’s written in quatrains (four line stanzas). The first line and the last line of each quatrain is the same. The second and third lines rhyme. The second line of each quatrain becomes the first line of the following quatrain until the final quatrain, which is the first quatrain repeated.

Your Catena Rondo can be about whatever you wish. And there is no set syllable count, which makes it a little difficult to create a schematic, but I’ll do one using a six syllable version. The capital letters are the repeated lines:

xxxxxA
xxxxxb
xxxxxb
xxxxxA

xxxxxB
xxxxxc
xxxxxc
xxxxxB

xxxxxC
xxxxxd
xxxxxd
xxxxxC

xxxxxA
xxxxxB
xxxxxB
xxxxxA

I swear, it took me longer to come up with a start to my example than to write the example itself. Could the well be running dry? Oh, look, that could be the subject for another poem. I should write it down. :-D

Anyway, once I got going I found I really enjoyed writing in this form. I like the way the verses flow into each other because of the repetition. Seriously, you should give it a try!


Magic’s Price

Magic flows like water
within the circle of stone.
When I am all alone
magic flows like water.

Within the circle of stone
there is no escape for me,
I look to the stars and plea
within the circle of stone.

There is no escape for me,
I’ve brought this on myself
defying time itself—
there is no escape for me.

I’ve brought this on myself
for trying to change my fate
and knocking on hell’s gate—
I’ve brought this on myself.

For trying to change my fate
I’m taking my last breath.
My punishment is death
for trying to change my fate.

Magic flows like water
within the circle of stone.
When I am all alone
magic flows like water.

Spreading the Love

Appreciation can make a day, even change a life. Your willingness to put it all into words is all that is necessary.
— Margaret Cousins

Everyone wants to be appreciated, so if you appreciate someone, don’t keep it a secret.
— Mary Kay Ash

You get a good review, and it’s like crack. You need another hit. And another. And another. I know authors are like Tinkerbell and generally need applause to survive, but it’s a slippery slope.
― Alexandra Bracken

When was the last time you showed appreciation to someone for something they did? Of course, we do it all the time. When someone does something for us we thank them. Not just because it’s common courtesy, but because we appreciate that they took the time and trouble to do it.

Now, when was the last time you told a writer how much you appreciate the book they wrote?

I thought as much. Don’t worry, I’m guilty of the same thing. And this is something I’ve regretted over the years because I keep saying I’m going to, but I don’t. And now it’s too late to show my appreciation to a couple of my favorite authors – they died without knowing how much their books meant to me.

I don’t know what it is about showing appreciation to an author that’s so difficult. We’ll tell a friend or family member how much we loved a book, but rarely tell the author themselves. It’s a wonder any of us keep writing.

In the old days you could write your favorite author fan mail. These days it would be email, so much quicker and easier and you don’t have to make a trip to the post office. Some people show their appreciation by writing fan fiction, where they like a story so much that they never want it to end, so they continue it on their own. A prime example of this is the Shades of Grey series, that started out as fan fiction for the Twilight series.

Of course the sales help. When those sales figures go up an author knows they’re doing something right. Nothing says I love you like someone paying full price for the book you slaved over. I have to wonder though how Stephanie Myers felt about those sales figures from the Shades of Grey series creeping up towards those of Twilight.

Have you ever written a book review? I used to do that on a regular basis on a different blog (which is long gone now), and one of the perks of that was when publicists started sending me books to review. So many free books! But I only accepted books I intended to read, figuring it unethical to do otherwise.

Reviews are another way to show appreciation. I keep track of the books I read on the Goodreads site, and I’ll usually leave a quick little review when I add a book to my “read” list, but I never think to add the review to Amazon, where ratings are everything. And there’s no reason for me not to, other than sheer laziness.

So next time you read a book you really enjoy, let the author know. Send them some fan mail, or better yet, leave a review. I know I’m going to start trying to do so.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

WORDAGE REPORT

THE WEEK IN REVIEW
I’m starting to see a pattern here. My weeks start out strong, and then somewhere in the middle they just seem to get away from me. Or they kind of peter right out. It’s a little bit frustrating!

Monday was a really good day – a nice balance between writing and stitching and reading. But Tuesday I had some medical stuff going on, and then I figured since the day was pretty much a write-off anyway, I might as well drive up to Peterborough to drop off the car load of donations I had.

Wednesday there was some unexpected socializing, which really threw what was left of my schedule off. Thursday I had a coffee date with a friend, which I might not have made if I’d known Wednesday afternoon was going to be a write-off.

By Friday my ambition had kind of deserted me. I worked in my office, but didn’t get much done. I fixed the poem I’d done for my “poemwork” . . . yeah, that was about it. In my defense, though. I’d like to point out that we’re deep into allergy season and my head has been hurting on a daily basis.

But also Friday, I had the final installment of The Pond up. I probably could have split it into two, but I really wanted to end at part 40. And I was getting a little tired of it. And despite the fact that it seems a little rushed, it did end the way I’d always intended it to.

And the really good news is, I’m pretty sure I’ve figured out what my next serial is going to be. It’s a strange story I had the idea for many, many years ago, loosely based on a poem I did that personified winter.

Should be something a little different.

NEW WORDS:
2205+633+427+1099=4,364
DOWN – 85 words from last week

Down a little bit from last week, despite the rather lengthy post on Friday. But I’m still not tempted to include my morning pages (which I’ve been doing faithfully) because first, they’re hand written and I’d have to either count the words myself or type them out, which seems a little redundant, and second, I don’t know how creative they are really, they’re more just angsty, whiny, rants. :-D

But I have to admit, sometimes my morning pages are a bit of a struggle. Not because I don’t have anything to write about, but because I’ve been getting distracted lately. I come downstairs and sit in my recliner to do them before I go to the gym, but the kittens lately have decided to start going after my plants, breaking my train of thought when I have to chase them away from them. Maybe I need to sit at the dining room table, or go into my office to do them.

I did spend more time in my office last week, but I forgot the advice from one of the workshops where the instructor said to take a 5 minute break every 25 minutes or so. My office chair is not as comfortable as my recliner, so sitting in it for long stretches at a time becomes really uncomfortable.

Goals For Next Week:
Find a workable routine to generate more words.

EDITING:
0 hours

One of these days I’m going to surprise the heck out of everyone and actually have something to report here. And no, I’m not going to remove it from my wordage report due to lack of updating like I did the marketing and tech. This is something I really want to get done, I just keep getting . . . distracted.

I know I said I wasn’t going to split my master list into sub-lists, but maybe I need to at least make a list of all the writing projects I want to do. A lot of the time with me it’s “out of sight, out of mind,” but if I have a list to consult then I won’t forget. And maybe I won’t waste as much time on games and surfing – I can work on something from that list instead.

Goal For Next Week:
Figure out the prophecy; get editing Elemental Spirit.

POETRY:
I found last week’s form, the Octo, kind of interesting, despite the lack of information about it and the fact there is another form with the same name. And I liked the two examples I wrote for it.

There was supposed to a poetry gathering last Wednesday, but it ended up being cancelled at the last minute. I’ll spare you the details of the miscommunication revolving around it, but in the end I was just as happy I had more time to work on my “poemwork.” I really had to scramble to get my poem finished, and it certainly wasn’t my best work, but I was able to fix it now, and while it’s not perfect, it’s a lot better.

I was inspired to start a new poem that was neither a form nor poemwork yesterday. The bones of it are there, but whether or not I flesh it out remains to be seen. It’s a little morbid. I may finish writing it anyway, just for me.

Goal For Next Week:
Find another new poetry form to share. Expand on the other poems I started.

CRAFTING:
I finished the first square of my zentangle sampler and I’m debating what to do with the second one. I don’t want them all to look the same, so I’m thinking of doing an actual picture in the next square instead of a true zentangle.

To be honest, I didn’t really give much thought to the overall design/theme when I started, which I’m beginning to see I should have. The first square is fine, but it was a bit of a pain to figure out what stitch to use next each time I finished a section. But if I do 9 squares altogether, I can do one square in each row something other than a zentangle design.

Like, this row I can do just a scene of some kind. The next row I can do an appliqué, and the third row I could do stumpwork or something like that. Or maybe just to keep the look of it even, I could do two appliqués, one on each side, in the middle row and then the stumpwork in the center of the bottom row.

Lots of things to consider, I guess. But I need to consider them soon because I don’t want to lose my momentum.

My baker’s rack is all trussed up and ready to go, but getting it here is turning out to be a bigger issue than we counted on. My father-in-law has not been able to get a hold of the neighbor who’s got the truck, and I’m pretty sure we’re going to need a couple of extra bodies to help move it. It doesn’t look like much all trussed up, but trust me, that sucker is heavy! As well it should be considering it’s made of wrought iron and wood.

The art supplies I got from my father-in-law are just going to have to join the rest of my stash for now. I want to get my routine with the writing and crafting well established before I add art into the mix. Once I get my baker’s rack in place I want to get back into my jewelry making and bead work, something I can’t really do right now, especially with a pair of nosy kittens around (I can close the door to my craft room to work).

Goal For Next Week:
Figure out a layout for my sampler; start thinking about the granddaugher’s dress for this year’s father/daughter ball.

WHAT I’M READING:
I haven’t been doing as much reading lately. I’m still reading The Little Flower Shop, by Lori Foster – I’m about halfway through it.

And I’m ashamed to admit that I slacked off a bit on the bike riding, but I still managed to read Glacial Eyes, by J.K. Walker, and I’ve started Rule of Three, by Kelly Jamieson.

I did figure out how to upload new books to my Paperwhite, but I have no idea which ones are new and which were already on there. My old Kindle was having issues updating, so even though I was downloading books, they weren’t being uploaded. And I have no idea how many books, or what date, I stopped updating to the old device.

And there’s no option (at least not one I could see) for “update all new books” so I have no idea where I’m at as far as being up to date. Does that make any sense?

Goal For Next Week:
See if I can figure out how to put books in folders on the Paperwhite.

THE WEEK AHEAD:

I have my stitch-in at the library on Tuesday and a blood test on Thursday next week, and that’s it. Hopefully there won’t be any unexpected visitors and I have no coffee plans. However, as I’ve seen in the past, that doesn’t necessarily mean I’m going to have a more productive week.

For one thing, I need to get my garden in. Yes, that’s right, I still haven’t done that. I don’t even have bedding plants in the front garden. That’s because we were still getting frost warnings. It’s almost June, for crying out loud!

But while the long-range forecast isn’t exactly promising summer temperatures, at least the temperature isn’t supposed to drop so drastically at night. So at the very least I’ll be putting in some gardening time.

I need to make a little more time for crafting this week. You know, once I settle on the overall design for the sampler. I’m actually starting to wonder how it would look if I alternated sampler squares with picture squares. Might be a little more cohesive looking. *sigh* Decisions, decisions.

I’d like to get a little more creative with my writing. I’m not sure yet if this is going to be the meditative writing, or maybe a prompt a week, or maybe a combination of the two. Or maybe it can even be following the lessons in some of the writing books I have. Or, heaven forbid, accessing some of those courses I’ve paid for.

Here, again, is another reason to keep a writing specific list. I write down all these ideas for progress here, but then I promptly forget about them.

I can see the track and it’s getting closer, but there are still a lot of weeds to cut through before I’m able to step back on it.

The Pond – The End

Fifty-three years had passed between the time Izolda sacrificed her magic to cast the spell of forgetting and when she drew her last breath. The spell unravelled, what was done was undone. In the city far away, Michael Anton, formerly Mikhail Antonovich, woke with a start. Something was wrong, something . . .

Carefully, so as not to disturb his wife, he slipped out of bed and went downstairs to pour himself a drink. There were thoughts, memories he had forgotten, crowding his mind. An overload of information that he wasn’t sure how to deal with.

“Michael?” His wife’s voice came from the doorway. “Is everything all right?”

“It’s nothing. Go back to bed Sophie.”

She sat down beside him on the sofa. “It must be something to have you sitting in the dark, in the middle of the night, drinking vodka.”

“You’re going to think I’m crazy,” he mumbled. “Hell, I think I’m crazy.”

“Try me.”

“All right. Fine.” He tossed back the rest of his drink. “I had a dream about my mother.”

“You mean your Aunt Anya?”

“No, I mean my real mother. I always thought I’d been sent to live with Aleksander as a punishment, that my real parents hated me. But now . . .” He paused and poured himself another drink.

“My mother came to me in a dream,” he said abruptly. “She told me she loved me, that it broke her heart to send me away but she was trying to protect me.”

“Protect you? Protect you from what?”

“My family is under a curse. We are being stalked by a being of great evil.”

Sophie kept silent as he paused to take another drink.

“I once had a brother and a sister,” he added.

“I didn’t know that, why have you never mentioned them to me before?”

“This evil – thing – killed them and my mother was afraid she hadn’t sent me far enough away to protect me, so she cast a spell to make everyone forget I was her son. And to make me forget I had another family.”

“Wait a minute,” Sophie said. “Are you saying your mother was some kind of a witch? That’s crazy!”

“Crazy, perhaps, but true nonetheless. My mother was a powerful ved’ma. But she is dead now, and came to me in a dream to warn me that with her death the spell she cast was broken, and that the evil would be coming for me.”

Sophie was quiet for a moment. “That was some dream, Michael. No wonder you were spooked. But it was just a dream. Come back to bed now.”

“You go ahead,” he said with a sigh. “I’ll be along in a minute.”

Though he did join his wife back in bed, Michael did not get any more sleep that night. And three weeks later his wife found him in his armchair in the living room, quite dead. Because it was so unexpected, an autopsy was performed. No one could explain why Michael’s lungs were filled with water.

Their son, Peter, came to stay with his mother and help her get Michael’s affairs in order. The home office was a mess, stacks of paper everywhere, but Peter went through them page by page. He picked up a sheaf of papers and skimmed them over with a frown.

“Mother,” he called out. “What do you know about this property Dad owned?”

“I know that it’s cursed,” she claimed, taking the papers from him. “We will have nothing to do with it.”

No matter how much he pressed her, she would say no more about it. The matter was dropped until her passing, two years later, and he came across the papers again. He scoffed at the idea of a curse and went to investigate it for himself.

He was gone for three days, and when he returned he began acting peculiar, muttering about water spirits and making sacrifices. He was sent to Sunshine Acres, a high class sanitarium, where he began drafting papers that would turn the Antonovich property into a wild life preserve. Unfortunately, he was found face down in the reflecting pond before the papers could be filed.

The land was passed on to his son, James, the last of the Antonovich family. He’d been estranged from his father for years, and had no idea they had owned such a large chunk of prime real estate.

The first thing he did was put a stop to the proceedings to turn it into a sanctuary. Then he decided to visit it himself. The towering trees of the old growth forest were impressive, as was the amount of acreage that bordered the river. The old mill had seen better days, but he had a friend who was an architect, and another who was a structural engineer. The building would make an impressive inn, if it was feasible.

Visions of an exclusive resort filled James’ head as he continued to explore. He found the pond by accident. It was badly overgrown, but he could see the potential for an attractive water feature.

There was a ripple in the water and he squinted to get a closer look. It looked like . . . it couldn’t possibly be a woman out there, could it?

“Are you all right?” he called out.

Turning to face him, she said, “I’m fine. The water is lovely, why don’t you join me?”

She was beautiful. She was slender and curvy, and the sun filtering through the trees gave her long dark hair a greenish cast. The water was clear enough he could see she was naked. James was not one to let an opportunity pass him by. He quickly stripped down to his shorts and waded into the warm water.

“My name is Katrinka,” she told him, wrapping her arms around him. “And I’ve been waiting for you.”


THE END

The Octo Verse Form

Usually when I settle on a form of the week, I like to try and find several sources of information about it and then distill it all down to something that makes sense. I have to tell you, wording really matters when it comes to this form.

“Octo Verse Form” gave me a couple of hits, one of which was a WiX site with a totally different version of this form. There were several sites listed with a definition for an Octastich, which is basically an eight line poem. And if you leave off the word “form” from your search, you get a pile of listings for an Octoverse software.

So then I tried to do a search for the creator of it, James Neille Northe, and I discovered he’s an American educator who also invented the Cinquino (another poem I could find very little about).

Anyway, as the name implies, the Octo Verse is an octastich, which means it’s an eight line poem. As well, all of the lines are eight syllables each. The nice thing about this poem is, it doesn’t rhyme. However (you just knew there had to be a catch, didn’t you?) at the same time, if you do a schematic it kind of does rhyme, because lines are repeated. The first line repeats as the last line, line two repeats as line seven, and line three repeats as line six. Lines four and five are kinda just there.

Here's a schematic:

xxxxxxxA
xxxxxxxB
xxxxxxxC
xxxxxxxx
xxxxxxxx
xxxxxxxC
xxxxxxxB
xxxxxxxA

Despite all the confusion surrounding this poetry form, I kind of liked it. Which is why I wrote two examples. :-)


Poets

Do poets love as others do?
This is something we can ponder
when the candle burns low at night
and words lie still upon the page
while the restless dreaming fills us.
When the candle burns low at night,
this is something we can ponder –
do poets love as others do?


The Greening

The greening has begun again
as it does each year at this time,
when spring slides into the summer
and the days grow longer, brighter,
and the air begins to warm us
when spring slides into the summer
as it does each year at this time.
The greening has begun again.

Editing Your Own Poetry and Writersfest Wrap-up

I need about one hundred fifty drafts of a poem to get it right, and fifty more to make it sound spontaneous.
― James Dickey

Writing poetry is a passion, ignited by thoughts, fueled by ink. A way to travel through another mind, where souvenirs of tears are tucked away inside your soul. Or leave you with smiles for miles, depending on which route you go.
― Renee Dixon

...when a good poet is confronted with difficult facts that he knows to be true but also are inimical to poetry, he has no choice but to flee to the margins; it was...this very retreat that allowed him to hear the hidden music that is the source of all art.
― Orhan Pamuk, Snow

The final workshop I attended at Writersfest, was Editing Your Own Poetry, presented by Otoniya J. Okot Bitek. There was actually a workshop that came after it, but I kind of skipped that one.

Despite the name of this workshop, it never occurred to me to bring a poem with me to edit. My bad! But even if I had, because I work so heavily with forms and the form would have been ruined if I’d followed her suggestions. To be fair, the course description said to “bring your inspired ideas, your phrases, single words, manifestos, dreams and together we will sculpt out a space from which you can learn to edit your own poem.” It did not say to bring a finished poem.

Mostly what we were given was a series of questions about our poems:
Why this form?
In what other forms can this poem appear?
Try changing it to a haiku, limerick, lyric, sonnet – what happens?
What is your poem about?
What else could it be about?
One word – what is your poem about?

Why does this poem need/want to be in the world? What does it do? The space between these two questions is where you edit.

What surprises you about this poem?
Where might the surprise be hiding?
Where’s the volta (the turn of thought or dramatic shift)?
What do you like about this poem?
What does this teach you about your own style?
In what tradition do you write?
How do you mark yours in that tradition?

And unfortunately, that was pretty much it for the notes I took. I did, however, come away with a poem:

Observations From the Fifth Floor

White horses chase
small shard of ice –
the flag snaps to attention –
solid water separates in the harbour
the breath of the current
inhaling the sheets of ice together
and exhaling them apart.
I watch it all safely
from behind the glass.

And thus ends my reports on the Kingston Writersfest Retreat. I was only disappointed in two of the classes, which is not bad, percentage wise. I learned a lot, and more importantly I learned different things than I did at the last one. And I made a few friends along the way.

I took way too much stuff with me, but then you never really know what to take, do you? The weather was cold and rainy, so I stuck pretty much to the hotel and I learned the benefit of staying in the same hotel as where the event was being held. I believe the next one is being held at the Holiday Inn, and you can be sure I’ll be making my hotel reservation in time to stay there.

And yes, I will definitely be going to the next one, which I believe is being held at the end of September. It’s good to get together with other creative people. The workshops offer a wealth of information. And not having to cook or clean for several days isn’t bad either. ;-)

So now, all that’s left is waiting patiently for the tickets to go on sale for the next one.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

WORDAGE REPORT

THE WEEK IN REVIEW
Last week was . . . interesting. I actually feel like I’m making progress. There was a nice blend of stitchery, reading, and writing, and my best day was Wednesday, my day off.

I was still feeling rather blah, and I was tired of struggling, so I decided to take Wednesday off. I did not go to the gym, and I did not do anything I felt I had to do or needed to do, I just did whatever I felt like doing. And because I gave myself permission to do so, I felt absolutely no guilt.

It was great – I highly recommend it. It’s not something you want to do too often, mind you, or it loses its impact, but every once in awhile I think it’s good for your mental health. You should try it some time!

So what did I do? I did my morning pages, because it’s becoming a habit. I read – not in one big block of time, but at several points between doing other things. I tried a meditation free-writing, like they had us doing to start each session in the retreat I went to a couple of years ago and came away with an interesting beginning to . . . something.

I had a couple of unintentional naps with the kitties and during one of them I was kind of pinned in place, unable to move enough to reach my lap top or even a book. I didn’t really feel like napping myself so I gave my imagination free reign. Next thing you know, I’m trying to ease myself over enough to grab a notebook (without disturbing the cat) so I could write down a two-page summation of a new story idea. So my do-nothing day was probably the best day of the week.

I had to invest in a new lap desk. Dinsdale likes to curl up under it when I’m reclined in my chair with it across my lap. I guess he was feeling a little feisty one day, so he rolled over onto his back and started attacking the padding. Next thing I know he’s pulled it away from the desk part and started ripping into the padding itself. *sigh*

My new lap desk is wider, and it has two folding legs (like one of those trays you can get for breakfast in bed). But it does not have padding, and I only have to use the legs if I want to, which raises the whole thing up higher. I’m sure I’ll get used to it in time.

NEW WORDS:
2779+599+334+737=4,449
UP 957 – words from last week

Up quite a bit from last week, aren’t I? And that doesn’t even include my morning pages, which I’ve been doing faithfully, the two-page idea summation, nor the results of my creative meditation.

I think I need to practice getting back into the rhythm of using the Neo for distraction-free writing. I did start my installment of the Pond on it, but I didn’t get very far and ended up uploading it to the lap top to finish.

The father-in-law came across something rather interesting that he passed on to me. It’s an ancient word processor. I haven’t checked to see if it works yet, but it has a slot for a floppy disk and it comes with its own printer – pretty sure it’s a dot matrix. Even if it works, I’m not sure how much use it’ll be, but I’m sure I’ll have fun checking it out.

Goals For Next Week:
Get all my blog posts done and maybe a few extra words besides.

EDITING:
0 hours
Here’s the thing.

Okay, There’s not really a thing, it’s just me not doing it..

I think Elemental Spirit is like exercising first thing in the morning. I need to stop thinking about it and just do it. The real stickler is the prophecy. If I can just get that worked out then the rest should fall into place. But every time I try, my imagination seems to come up against a brick wall.

And yes, I did put it on my list.

Goal For Next Week:
Figure out the prophecy; get editing Elemental Spirit.

POETRY:
Last week I tackled another Irish form, and lo and behold it didn’t kill me. LOL I guess I just have to be in the right mind set to work on the Irish forms, sometimes they seem harder than others.

I had ideas for a couple of other poems, but I haven’t really done anything with them yet. This is part of my problem – a line or two gets stuck in my head, so I write it down to un-stick it, and then I promptly forget about it until I’m leafing through my writing journal looking for something else and stumble across it again.

Goal For Next Week:
Find another new poetry form to share. Expand on the other poems I started.

CRAFTING:
The work is going steadily on my zentangle sampler. I’m just about finished the first square. Now, when we did zentangle with pens, we started out with a box inside a slightly larger box. I stitched the outline of the outer box with my first square, but then I just basted where I wanted the inner box to be.

Now I’m thinking I should have defined the outline better. As in, I should have drawn the second box in and then stitched it was well, perhaps with a different outline stitch. I can still stitch the inner box, of course, but it’s not going to look nearly as good.

And I have good news! I was over at the father-in-law’s yesterday, helping him clean out the room where my baker’s rack is, and the baker’s rack itself. It’s all ready to go, we just have to wait for the guy with the truck and several strong men to help him carry it. That sucker is heavy!

As well as the word processor and a car load of donations, I came away with my mother-in-law’s sewing box, one of those big wooden ones that unfolds into three levels. I’m not sure if I’m going to keep it, or just repair it and clean it up and then donate it.

I also ended up with a big box of art supplies – paints, brushes, books. There was a wooden paint box that just needs to be cleaned up a bit. I’ll have to go through it all to determine what can be saved and what should just be chucked.

Goal For Next Week:
Keep working on my sampler; sort through the art supplies I brought home.

WHAT I’M READING:
I finished The Book of Magic, by Alice Hoffman, the final book in the Practical Magic series. And I’ve started reading The Little Flower Shop, by Lori Foster.

I started riding the bike again, so I dug out my Kindle. To my surprise it still had a charge, so I also read A Little Harmless Sex by Melissa Schroeder last week. And . . . when I added it to my Goodreads list I discovered I already read it – 10 years ago.

This is the one thing I don’t like about my Paperwhite – my old Kindle let me organize my books or delete them right on the device. This new one, I can’t even figure out how to update my library, let alone organize it. And the books all stay in some kind of cloud, they’re not stored on my device.

Goal For Next Week:
Keep reading.

THE WEEK AHEAD:

My lists kind of petered out towards the end of the week, so I need to make a concentrated effort to keep them up. They really do work, which is why the first half of my week was more productive than the second half.

I still want to keep up my morning pages, even though they’re still reading like an extended, whinier journal. Maybe it has something to do with writing them first thing in the morning before my brain is awake. It’s too bad I couldn’t write them while I’m still in bed and maybe try and record my dreams, not that I’m remembering them much.

This week is going to be busier – three medical appointments, plus a poetry gathering – but I think with the help of my lists I can stay on top of things. I’m set to finish the Pond this week, the final installment should be a bit of a surprise. I can’t believe no one figured out what Izolda’s spell (after Dmitri died) was all about.

The track still getting closer, one of these days . . .

The Pond - Part 39

Where once the name Nikolai Antonovich had been synonymous with good fortune, now it was being whispered, behind his back, that he and all who dealt with him were cursed. The damage to the mill was not as extensive as it was first believed, all that it would take to get it working again was to replace the grinding wheel, but Nikolai had no interest in repairing it.

“Let it rot,” he said.

“But husband, it was to be your legacy,” Izolda pointed out. “And others depend upon it for their livelihood.”

“Then let these others see to the repairs. It was meant to be a legacy for our son. Our son is gone. My legacy ends here.”

Nothing Izolda said, no plea from those who once worked for him made any difference. He had given up.

For a time some of the men tried to form a kind of co-op, doing the sawing by hand as they had during the drought. But they quickly learned they could not compete with the steam driven mills and gave up.

The workers, friends, who had come to this new land with Nikolai, supporting him through the drought and the accidents had had enough. They took their families and left, seeking work elsewhere. Many of the others followed suit until the village all but dried up. Only a few hardy souls, those who had no where else to go, remained.

Despite the loss of the sawmill Izolda and Nikolai did not suffer greatly financially. They still owned the vast tract of land, and collected rents from the few farms on it. They lived quietly, Nikolai taking comfort in the bottle, and Izolda leading a mundane life. Her magic never returned.

The years passed, they both grew older. Izolda no longer tried to convince Nikolai to leave this place. Without her magic there was no where they could go that the rusalka could not find them. In her own way, she was also broken. This was her punishment for her past misdeeds.

Her mother had warned her years ago that dark magic came with unseen costs, but like so much of what her mother tried to instill in her, she had ignored it. Her children had been gone long enough that she no longer felt the pain of their passing. All she felt was numbness. It was only a matter of time before the rusalka came for her.

She could not stand waiting any longer. The day was hot as she made her way along the overgrown path towards the pond.

“You have won,” she shouted when she reached the edge. “Here I am. You have taken everything else from me, now here I am, for you to take my life.”

“So willing to die.” The rusalka’s voice was a whisper over the water but she did not appear in corporeal form. “But there is still one more thing to take from you yet. There is one who is as guilty as you of betrayal.”

Izolda stood frozen on the pond’s edge. “Nikolai,” she whispered. Turning, she raced towards home.

She knew, before she reached the house, that she would be too late. Nikolai lay sprawled in his chair, a look of surprise on his face, but no fear. There was water spilled on the floor around him and she knew there would be water in his lungs as well.

“Oh, Nikolai,” she said sadly. “How I wish things could have been different.”

Izolda kissed him on the forehead and went slowly up the stairs. There was nothing left inside her. She was empty. Wrapping herself in the quilt her aunts Anya and Polina had given her before she left for her new life she lay down on her marriage bed.

In the pond, the rusalka felt the passing of her mortal enemy, but felt no satisfaction. That came when the life altering spell Izolda cast after Dmitri’s death was broken.

“How deceptive you were, my old friend. What a shame you had not considered that with the release of your spirit your spell would be broken. And such a clever spell at that. It seems my revenge is not complete after all.”

Breccbairdne Poetry Form

Oh, look! Another Irish form. What can I say, I guess I’m just a glutton for punishment. On the other hand, as Irish forms go, this one’s not too heinous.

The Breccbairdne is a very old Irish verse that is written in any number of quatrains (four line verses). But of course it can’t be that simple, can it?

First of all, it’s syllabic, meaning it has a set number of syllables. Line 1 is 5 syllables, and lines 2, 3, and 4 are each 6 syllables. It has a rhyme scheme of a-b-c-b. And just to make it a little different, each line must end in a two syllable word.

Here’s a schematic to help keep things straight:

x x x (xa)
x x x x (xb)
x x x x (xc)
x x x x (xb)

If you wish to make your Breccbairdne a little more challenging, you can add a dunadh. This is where the first word, phrase or line of your poem is repeated at the end, framing the entire poem. But this is purely optional.

I have to tell you, I thought the short lines would be hard to work with, but it was the two syllable end words that I found difficult. Short lines, rhyme scheme, and two-syllable end words? Yeah, this wasn’t what I’d call a fun form.


Dreaming

at night, when dreaming
my thoughts begin swirling,
chaotic and shadowed
while moonlight is whirling

my subconscious stirs,
a dreamscape emerges –
my thoughts soon unwind,
I’m filled with strange urges

to roam and wander
to dance by the seaside
to climb up a mountain
to sleep on a hillside

serious, absurd
my musing keeps streaming
anything is likely
at night, when I’m dreaming

Creative Writing Kickstart

The truly creative mind in any field is no more than this: A human creature born abnormally, inhumanly sensitive. To him... a touch is a blow, a sound is a noise, a misfortune is a tragedy, a joy is an ecstasy, a friend is a lover, a lover is a god, and failure is death. Add to this cruelly delicate organism the overpowering necessity to create, create, create -- so that without the creating of music or poetry or books or buildings or something of meaning, his very breath is cut off from him. He must create, must pour out creation. By some strange, unknown, inward urgency he is not really alive unless he is creating.
― Pearl S. Buck

This is how you do it: You sit down at the keyboard and you put one word after another until it's done. It's that easy, and that hard.
— Neil Gaiman

Creativity is seeing what others see and thinking what no one else ever thought.
— Albert Einstein

Workshop #10, Creative Writing Kickstart, was presented by Richard Scarsbrook first thing in the morning on the last day of Writersfest. The nice part about it was it included a 19-page handout, like a mini-course, and I might have been tempted to pare it down to share with you here if we hadn’t done so much actual writing. In fact, I think we did more writing in this workshop than all the others put together!

The best way to get yourself writing is to actually write. So Mr. Scarsbrook presented us with a number of prompts, breaking them down into two categories – experiential, and conceptual. For the experiential prompts we were given a single word, and told to focus on what that word evoked in us – a memory or experience, a strong response or feeling. For the conceptual prompt he played us a piece of music, geared to generate a feeling about something that is not a memory. And to make it more interesting, we weren’t told what the music clip was until we were done writing.

If there had been any discussion of some of the finer points from the hand out, I didn’t take any notes about it. To be honest, I’m pretty sure we jumped right to the prompts.

Our first experiential prompt was the word Childhood:
When I was a child, we lived in a rowhouse that was used as military family housing. We lived in a center row that faced onto a common square that held a large sandbox and swings. Our milk was delivered to our door in glass bottles, our bread was delivered by a breadman. We had a white cat (they were always white cats) named Fluffy. We also had my grandfather’s canary, named Ricky. One day, Fluffy knocked over Ricky’s cage and, as cats will, killed him. My mother told the breadman not to let the cat out but the warning came too late. We never saw Fluffy again. Being only three or four at the time, I understood that Fluffy had escaped out the door, but I couldn’t understand why Ricky’s cage was empty. Finally, my sister told me that Ricky was dead, and that dad had buried him in the sand box. So I got my mother’s large serving spoon and spent the rest of the day digging in the sand box, looking for Ricky.

Conceptual prompt #1
It was a calm and peaceful evening, but the woman was not able to enjoy the serenity around her. Her heart was filled with sorrow, her face was wet with tears. Never had she felt so alone. It was an ache she could not escape, no matter how far she walked along the beach. The moonlight was wasted on her. Her steps slowed, faltered. She stood on the shore facing the water. The clouds hid the moon.
Music clip: John Barry’s Out of Africa, Flight Over Africa.

Experiential prompt #2 –Person
His name was Billy-Bob. He was a good ‘ole boy, same as his cousins Jim-Bob and Eugene. Billy-Bob was only in his early 20s, but he already had a sizable paunch from weekends spent guzzling beer with Jim-Bob and Eugene. His personal hygiene left much to be desired and he was usually found wearing dirty, ripped jeans and a tee-shirt with some sort of humorous, usually offensive, picture on it. At least that’s what he wore to the bar. When he was working at Rusty Taylor’s garage, he wore grease spattered overalls. He was moon-faced with thinning, unwashed brown hair that he kept long, pulled back into a tail.

Conceptual prompt #2
She stood in the door, letting her eyes adjust to the smokey interior. Why on earth would Tom want to meet here? A jazz club of all places. A few annoyed glances were sent her way and she stepped fully inside, letting the door shut behind her, sealing in the darkness and blocking out the light. The music was loud, but she couldn’t deny there was something about it that pulled at her. Her eyes adjusted and she glanced around, looking for Tom. She couldn’t see him, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t here. A look of annoyance flashed across her face. If he was, he could damn well come to her. With determination, she made her way to the bar to sit and wait.
Didn’t catch the name of the piece of music, but it was some kind of Bosa Nova.

Experiential prompt #3 – Family
She could see the lights of the small town she grew up in twinkling below her. If she tried hard, she could probably pick out her family’s house, but she wasn’t quite ready for that. She could picture it in her mind though – Mama would be in the kitchen in her big, yellow apron with the blue roses sprinkled over it. She’d be finishing up the dinner dishes, probably alone because Sissy wouldn’t think to offer to help. Sissy would consider clearing the table to be more than enough. When Mama was done with the dishes, she’d use the crocheted dish cloth – she only used crocheted ones, never store-bought – to wipe down the counters.

Conceptual prompt #3
How bittersweet, to have found him, only to have to say goodbye to him again. She stood on the cliff top, watching the ship sail away, imagining him at the rail, watching the shore recede. Would he look up at the cliffs, know she was watching him depart? She liked to think so. Her hand rested on her stomach. He said he’d come back to her, for her. All she could do was wait and see.
Music clip: Gayane Ballet Suite from 2001: A Space Odyssey.

Experimental prompt #4 – A Place
It was dark and cool. The rocks loomed up on either side of the detritus strewn path that wound its way between them. The taste of moisture and age was in the air. Earthy scents of decay, and green, and age filled the sinuses. Dark green moss and bright green ferns formed a patchwork over black, fossil-filled stone. Sunlight was filtered through a canopy of cedar, beech, and pine. The glint of water could be seen, the sun’s reflection piercing.

Conceptual prompt #4
Running. She was running, but she didn’t know why or to where. All she was conscioius of was one foot after another. There was no past, not future, only now. A chill filled her. At the top of the rise she spared a glance behind her. There, just coming over the distant rise. A line of grey – ships, robots, she didn’t know what they were, but she knew she couldn’t let them catch her. She began to run in earnest.
Music clip: One of These Days, Pink Floyd

Experiential prompt #5 – Relationship
“We’ve been together for six years,” Mavis said. “Is it really too much to ask?”
“But you’re asking for a commitment,” Roger countered. “You want a r—r—r—”
“Oh for God’s sake. You can’t even say the word. Repeat after me, re-la-tion-ship.”
“I know what the word is,” he snapped. “I just don’t understand why all of a sudden you’re so gung-ho to start one.”
“Start one, start one?!” Mavis’s voice rose. “What do you think we’ve been in for the last six years?”
“Yeah, but now you want to label it. It makes it all official-like.”
Mavis just stared at him for a few seconds. Then she turned and walked away.

Unfortunately, we didn’t have time for a fifth conceptual prompt. But these prompts really showed what we were capable of in just a few minutes. And it also proved that you don’t need an elaborate prompt to kickstart your creativity, all you need is a single word, or a song.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

WORDAGE REPORT

THE WEEK IN REVIEW
If I had to use one word to describe last week, that word would be mediocre. I didn’t have a lot of outside stuff going on – just a stitchery guild meeting – but I also didn’t have a lot of ambition to get things done.

The weather wasn’t quite as sunny as we were promised, but I really can’t use lack of sun as an excuse. Even when the sun was out I was feeling kind of blah. I got a lot of mundane things done – household chores, phone calls I’ve been putting off (like registering the microchips in the kittens) – but not a whole lot of extra writing.

My serial post was a few hours late . . . has anyone figured out what spell Izolda cast that drained her of all her power? I’m pretty sure I can wrap this mess of a story up in just a couple more installments. It really deviated from what it was supposed to be, but some of those deviations, like the introduction of a rusalka, make it a better story. Once it’s finished I’ll let it sit for a month or so before reading it from start to finish, and then I can decide whether it’s worth editing or not.

I took my Neo (which had a stuck X key and a missing #6 key) and my backup Neo (which was totally pooched) to the computer repair store and asked if they could take the keys from the backup one and fix the old one. The guy thought I was nuts, but lo and behold he did it and I now have a fully functional Alphasmart Neo again. Now I just have to start using it. LOL

I started doing the “morning pages”, as suggested by the instructor of one of the workshops I took at writersfest. He got the idea from the book The Artist’s Way, by Julia Cameron. Now I just happen to own a copy of that book, so when I was struggling with then I looked them up and it turns out I was doing them exactly right. Who’d have thought?

Did some stitchery, not just at the stitchery meeting, did some reading, just didn’t do any writing outside of my blog posts, despite the fact I spent more time in my office. *sigh* But hope springs eternal. Maybe this will be the week the words return.

NEW WORDS:
2086+507+298+601=3,492
DOWN 495 – words from last week

Seriously, I do not know what’s wrong with my brain. I know the words are in there, why won’t they come out? I’ve done the morning pages 4 days in a row now, but I’m not really counting them as reportable words because they’re pretty much throw away words.

The book says it takes about three weeks for things to “click” so I’m crossing my fingers that’s the case. Which is not to say I’m going to wait three weeks for something to happen, I’ll keep trying anyway, but it’s nice to have something to look forward to (hopefully).

Goals For Next Week:
Get all my blog posts done and maybe a few extra words besides.

EDITING:
0 hours
A funny thing happened on the way to figuring the prophecy . . . Okay, maybe not. Maybe I figured I’d use one of my large, top wire bound note books to work out the prophecy on, and then just never got around to.

Have I mentioned I get distracted easily? I had cookies to bake, and cats to cuddle, and the neighbor’s plants to water (while neglecting my own). It was suggested I used my reMarkable tablet for this, but I think I need the large sized notebook for the space.

Maybe I should put it on my list.

Goal For Next Week:
Figure out the prophecy; get editing Elemental Spirit.

POETRY:
Last week’s form was a bit obscure, which is fun to do occasionally. It had a really weird syllable count to it, plus a rhyme scheme to follow, which made it a bit tricky, but I really like the way my example turned out.

And I found the poem remnants that I wrote during the Duende workshop, so that’s good. Duende isn’t exactly a poetry form, so I can’t cheat and turn them into the form of the week. The second one especially doesn’t lend itself to a form. But I’ll probably go ahead and finish them for my files – I don’t know what else to do with them.

Goal For Next Week:
Find another new poetry form to share. Expand on the poems I started during the Duende workshop.

CRAFTING:
I’m spending way too much time checking out the work of the members of the on-line stitchery groups that show up in my Facebook feed. And while they were inspirational at first, now they’re getting to be a little depressing. I’m seeing some brilliant stitching, and it’s kind of making me feel inadequate.

Yes, I know I shouldn’t compare myself to others, but sometimes you just can’t help it. And I’m sure if I wanted to give up my writing and focus on my stitchery I could be just as brilliant, but that’s not going to happen. So I am content to be good, with flashes of brilliance. LOL

We had a presentation by one of the newer members to the stitchery guild and I came away with a severe case of education envy. She showed us the wide range of stitchery techniques she’s tried over the years, and then told us that she learned most of it at this art school I didn’t even know existed!

Considering the amount of time I spent stitching on my zentangle sampler, I would have expected to be further along, but right now I’m working on a vine with leaves and it’s taking forever!

Goal For Next Week:
Keep working on my sampler; maybe give one of the kits I got from Amazon a try.

WHAT I’M READING:
My reading has slowed right now to a crawl. I’m still reading The Book of Magic, by Alice Hoffman, but that’s about it. I think I need to add reading to my list. :-)

Goal For Next Week:
Keep reading.

THE WEEK AHEAD:

The lists are really helpful for getting things done, even if most of those things are mundane. But it does show me what areas I’m slacking off in.

I want to keep up with my morning pages. Sometimes when I run out of things to whine about in them I’ll have an image or thought creep in that makes me go “Hmmm.” So maybe getting all that angst and whining down at the beginning of the day is actually working.

I have another fairly quiet week ahead, so now’s the time to make the most of it. Maybe I can even pull my Neo out and go outdoors to write. Wouldn’t that be a treat?

The weather is supposed to continue to be a little brighter, and it’s been warm enough lately that I’ve had the window in my office open. It’s a little easier to avoid the internet distractions when I’m using my laptop in my office because the internet sucks up the battery power, so there’s another advantage of spending more time at my desk.

That track is getting closer, I just have to step on it.

The Pond - Part 38

Izolda’s thoughts were jumbled as she walked slowly back to her home. Had she tried to bring Dmitri back from the dead? She remembered considering it, but no matter how much she loved her son she would never inflict such a thing on him.

At best he would be cursed to a half-living state, his damaged body needing constant maintenance to keep decomposition at bay. At worst he would come back as a soulless creature whose body was broken beyond repair.

But if she had not used up her power for that, then whatever she had attempted must have been a spell of equal power. And she must have completed it, whatever it was, otherwise she would still have her power. The rusalka should not have been able to compel her as she did, to leave her home and go to her.

Now she returned home, none the wiser. What kind of spell would take the memory from her to succeed? Still mulling it over, she finished the chores that had been interrupted and went into her workroom. The dress she had been wearing just yesterday was balled up in a basket. It reeked herbs, giving her an idea.

As she identified the smell of each herb, she wrote it down on a fresh page of her work book, then did the same for the decoctions and tisanes that had been left on her worktable. Beside them she listed what they could be used for. She studied the page, brow furrowed.

While there were a couple of possibilities, the spell that seemed to make the most sense was a spell of forgetting. A very powerful spell that encompassed not just herself and Nikolai, but the entire community and well beyond.

Izolda sighed heavily. As much as she felt her curiosity eating away at her, she put everything away again. To force a memory to return would be another major undertaking, and she no longer had the power for it. And if it was so important that the memory be forgotten that she would sacrifice her power, then whatever the memory was, it was best left in the past.

She went upstairs to give Dmitri’s bedroom one final cleaning before sealing it up, as she had Pavlina’s. Frowning at the door beside it, she opened it and peered inside. There was a neatly made bed, a washstand, and a trunk, just like the others. Why had she ever thought they needed a guest room?

With a shake of her head, she closed the door again and went back downstairs to wait for Nikolai to return, and couldn’t help the shiver of apprehension she felt.

He seemed to have aged in the short time he was gone. His shoulders were drawn inwards and his step was heavy. Going to the cupboard, he took down the bottle of vodka that was kept for rare occasions. Ignoring the cup Izolda offered him, he went over to his chair by the fireplace, slouched down in it, and took a long pull straight from the bottle.

Izolda opened her mouth to chastise him, but shut it again, the words dying stillborn on her tongue. The rusalka had taken her children from her, and now it appeared she had taken her husband as well. The Nikolai sitting by the fire was a broken man.

What more did the creature want of her?

Post Delay

If you're looking for this week's installment of The Pond, I apologize but it's going to be delayed. We're nearing the end of the story and as I was about to schedule this week's installment I noticed a whopping big plot hole. I didn't have time to fix it right away, but I'm hopeful it'll be up later today.

Mistress Bradstreet Stanza

This form was created by John Berryman and used in his fifty-seven verse poem, Homage to Mistress Bradstreet, which he wrote as a tribute to his life long study of the poetry of W.B. Yeats.

The stanza is an octave (eight lines), and was never particularly popular. It has a rhyme scheme of a-b-c-b-d-d-b-a, and a syllable count of 10-10-6-8-10-10-6-12. Other than the rhyme and syllable count, there are no other rules to this form. You can write about whatever you want and have as few or as many verses as you like.

Schematic

xxxxxxxxxa
xxxxxxxxxb
xxxxxc
xxxxxxxb
xxxxxxxxxd
xxxxxxxxxd
xxxxxb
xxxxxxxxxxxa

I have to admit, I didn’t take a close look at this form when I picked it as my form of the week, I chose it because it looked short – only eight lines. But between the rhyme scheme and the shifting syllable count, this form turned out to be a little tricky.

When I was at a stitchery guild meeting, one of the other ladies and I were talking about how crazy we all were, and I’m not exactly sure how the subject of poetry came up, but I jokingly said I should write a poem about this. And so I did, for my example. :-)


Needlework

The needle slides in and out of the cloth,
one exquisite stitch after another.
The emerging pattern
is never like any other –
each image, once caught on fabric by silk
is unique, with no others of its ilk,
a gift for another
foredoomed to become a meal for a moth.

Writing the Rom-Com

Romantic comedies seem to take over where the fairytales of childhood left off, feeding our dreams of a soulmate; though, sadly, the Hollywood endings prove quite elusive in the real world.
— Mariella Frostrup

I think that romantic comedies have a special place in most people's hearts, especially the younger demographic.
— Noah Centineo

I love romantic comedies. I have a deep respect for them. I think they're really difficult to write and write well.
— Rashida Jones

Workshop #9 was on writing romantic comedies, or Rom-Coms, presented by Farah Heron. While I took lots of notes in this one, once again I apologize if they seem a little choppy. It’s hard to write both fast and legibly.

Romantic comedy is a sub-genre of romance. It’s a comedic work where the main plot follows two people falling in love. To be a true romantic comedy, romance must be central to the story and it must come to an emotionally satisfying ending. It’s not just a funny romance, the humor is built into the plot/premise.

Elements in your rom-com that you need to consider before you start to write:

1. Subgenre/age
Though it’s usually contemporary, the rom-come can be historical, paranormal, or even sci-fi. As well, the age category can be adult or young adult. But it must reflect the values of the day – for example, if it’s historical you need to follow the morals of that time period. The reader must respect the character and be able to relate to them.

2. Rom Com tropes
Common tropes include (but are not limited to) fake dating, enemies to lovers (banter and conflicting goals), forced confinement (tight spaces, frayed nerves), grumpy one soft on the sunshiny one, forbidden love, best friend’s sibling, never been kissed, love at first sight, love triangle, and secret identity. Use a trope in a fresh, new way

3. High concept logline
A logline is a one sentence summary that distills the story elements down so they can be easily digested. A logline formula: When X happens, your protagonist tries to get Y but gets Z instead. Rom Com is not really a high concept, it’s actually more character driven.

4. Setting
Consider where it’s taking place and when it’s taking place – now, in the future, in the past (historical). Where do most scenes take place – indoors, outdoors, in an exotic location? What are the defining characteristics of the setting? Some settings are well suited to comedy such as the circus, a county fair, the zoo. If you’re going for dark humor, try a funeral home. Think about the atmosphere you want to generate – mysterious, cute, happy, heartwarming, sunny.

5. Characters
Rom Com is the most character driven of all the romances. The characters come from the premise or trope, but you need to bring the readers close to the characters so they feel the feelings of love, hope, redemption, etc. Archetypes can be used to help create character. Sorting people into categories is human nature – it’s a shortcut to characterization. The reader needs to fall in love with your characters.

Romantic Archetypes: Alpha (hero), Beta (hero), Virgin, Girl Next Door, Awkward Nerd, Bad Girl/Boy, Wisecracker, Hot Mess, The Charmer, The Square, the Every Person/Pollyanna, and the Cinnamon Roll (someone who is perceived as gentle and kind – gruff on the outside, soft and squishy on the inside).

Rom-Com characters often have strong personalities. When these personalities come in conflict with each other, as in an enemies-to-lovers story, the tension generated between the two might cause you to write an unlikeable character. You can fix this by having them do something heroic early in the story. Make sure their actions are justified and the justification is sympathetic.

Don’t prevent your reader from falling in love with your characters. Funny things can happen to your character, but don’t humiliate them. If there’s no getting around their humiliation, make sure to keep them likeable.

The compatibility gap is the thing that stops your characters from being together right now. It might be confliction goals or personalities, or something in their back stories.

And unless they’re stranded on a deserted island, there are bound to be other people around. The BFF and friend groups are an important part of the story, and can add humor in their own way.

6. Intimacy Level
The Rom-Com has varying levels of explicit sex. It can be sweet, clean, and wholesome, or take place behind closed doors. Or it can be steamy, spicy, hot (1 to 3 sex scenes), or erotic (more than 3 sex scenes – sex is a big part of the story).

7. Comedy Types: 

Situational – sit-com type comedy, comedic situations that are awkward, inescapable, and lighthearted
Banter – dialogue based, the playful and friendly exchange of good-humored, teasing remarks.
Observational – humor that revolves around the ordinary and commonplace aspects of everyday life. Often used by stand-up comics.
Physical – relies on the use of the body to convey humor – slapstick, clowning, mime, pratfalls, making faces.
Satire and surreal comedy do not work well in the Rom-Com.

Three things to keep in mind:
1. It’s okay if the first draft isn’t funny. Comedy is easier to do in rewrites
2. Let go of your inhibitions. Turn off your inner critic and write with abandon
3. Never forget this is a romance

Farah’s Tips:
Lower your inhibitions – be weird.
Check early with beta readers to see if it’s working.
Take risks.
Read romances.
Read rom-coms.
Watch Rom-Com movies.
Practice – write lots

If you’re thinking of writing a Rom-Com of your own, Farah has some work sheets to help get you started. You can find them HERE

And for further reading, you can check out the following books:

The Complete Writer's Guide to Heroes and Heroines: Sixteen Master Archetypes, by Caro Lafever, Tami D. Cowden, and Sue Viders, or Romancing The Beat: Story Structure For Romance Novels, by Gwen Hayes

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

WORDAGE REPORT

THE WEEK IN REVIEW
I had a strong start to my week last week, but too many grey days in a row tanked me towards the end.

As well as getting my blog posts done early, I also wrote a rather lengthy snail mail letter to my sister and did a bunch of reading and stitchery. Then I decided that what the big bookcase behind my desk needed was an extra shelf so I could get the books off of my desk and the floor of my office.

So following my stitchery meeting on Tuesday, I went to Home Depot and they had the perfect shelf for me. My plan was get the bookcase squared away in the afternoon, finish my sister’s letter in the evening, and then I could start Wednesday out right – in my office.

However, things never work out that well for me. The shelf was perfect, but the pre-drilled holes in the bookcase weren’t. I needed more drilled, and the hubby was off helping a friend and he’d taken his drill with him. By the time he came back and drilled the holes for me, it was dinner time. So I finished the letter in the afternoon (while I waited) and I read in the evening.

Wednesday I got my bookcase squared away in the morning, and for good measure got my desk cleaned up properly (as in found homes for all the papers and notebooks on it instead of just moving them around) in the afternoon. Then Thursday, while I was sitting in my office working on the installment for The Pond, it occurred to me that the little two shelf bookcase I use for my tea station would be more efficient if it had an extra shelf too. I didn’t have the same good luck with that one, but after the hubby cut down the shelf I found to size, it worked fine. And yesterday I got my CDs moved over and all is right with the world in my office now.

NEW WORDS:
2194+523+456+814=3,987
DOWN 354 – words from last week

While I’m not displeased with the words I wrote last week, I would have liked to see more of them. And by more I mean words on things other than blog posts. If I can write 5,000 words to my sister, surely I can write a couple of thousand on a story of some kind.

But like I said, I had a strong start to the week, but then between bookcase reorganization and cleaning off my desk, and then one day too many of grey dismal weather . . . so what should have been extra words turned into extra gaming and reading.

Goals For Next Week:
Get all my blog posts done and maybe a few extra words besides.

EDITING:
0 hours
I keep thinking about those historic records I want to cite at the beginning of each chapter of Elemental Spirit. Seeing as this book is supposed to tie all the others together, it might be a good idea to figure out what the actual prophecy was that started the whole thing.

Goal For Next Week:
Get back to work on An Elemental Spirit.

POETRY:
Well, I found a new form to share and it was neither too short, nor too long – it was just right. Not as easy as some of the ones I’ve been doing lately, but not as hard as a coded Welsh form. :-)

I did not work on expanding the poems I started in the Duende workshop, but I have a very good reason for that. I, uh, kind of lost them. Not lost as in gone forever, just . . . I don’t know where they are. They’re in a notebook somewhere, but part of cleaning off my desk and organizing my bookcase involved putting away the notebooks I had laying around, so it’s just a matter of figuring out which notebook they’re in and where I put it.

Goal For Next Week:
Find another new poetry form to share. Expand on the poems I started during the Duende workshop.

CRAFTING:
I joined an embroidery group on Facebook and have been getting a lot of posts from another one in my feed. So I may have spent a little more time than I should have admiring other peoples work last week. But they did inspire me to think beyond samplers or bags. I’m not saying I want to start stitching on sneakers or hats, but I do have a number of plain shirts that could use a little spiffing up.

I did spend some time on my zentangle sampler, but again, not as much as I would have liked. And there was stitch-in at the library that I went to where I actually got some stitching done, not just talking.

Goal For Next Week:
Keep working on my sampler; decide which shirt I want to enhance.

WHAT I’M READING:
I’m still reading The Book of Magic, by Alice Hoffman. And as I predicted, I zipped through Croc’s Return, Panther’s Claim, Python’s Embrace, and Gator’s Challenge by Eve Langlais.

Goal For Next Week:
Keep reading.

THE WEEK AHEAD:

I followed my lists last week, and I gotta tell you it feels really good when I can cross things off of it. Too bad most of them were mundane things like water plants, clean kitty litter, do laundry. LOL So this week my goal is to be able to cross off things like edit Elemental Spirit and update writing journal.

And I’m looking at another week where the only thing in my day planner is my stitchery guild’s regular meeting. Unless the dentist’s office calls with an appointment with their periodontist. *sigh*

The weather is supposed to be a little sunnier, but I’ll believe it when I see it. But my office is all squared away, so there’s nothing stopping me spending more time in there this week. The possibilities are endless.

I can see that track clearly from here, maybe this will be the week I step back on it.

The Pond - Part 37

It was just starting to become light when Izolda awoke. She levered herself up from the ground and blinked in confusion, feeling physically weak as though recovering from a long illness. What was she doing outside? She frowned, unable to remember anything after returning home from the mill with Nikolai.

The mill! She moaned and clutched her knees to her chest. Her sweet Dmitri, gone. She allowed herself to mourn, rocking back and forth as silent tears tracked down her cheeks. Once again the rusalka had torn away a piece her heart. Now it was only her and Nikolai left. Who would she take next?

After a time she swiped a hand across her face and climbed to her feet. Brushing herself off she frowned. Her clothes were tattered and her skin itched with hundreds of tiny cuts. Had she been warding off a magical attack?

Izolda looked back towards her magic circle. It was charred in the center and the protective herbs she’d planted so carefully around it were withered and brown. She reached out with her power to try to determine what had happened.

“What is this?” she wondered aloud. “What has happened to my magic?”

It was not just her body that was weak, the magic she was so proud of was almost entirely gone from her. But how, and why? Obviously she’d been working magic, but what kind of spell would cause her to lose consciousness, or to take her memory from her?

She shivered in the cool morning air. Something untoward had happened here. If only she could remember! Making her way slowly back to the house she wondered if the rusalka had attacked her. But why would she need to, so soon after taking Dmitri from her?

Slipping into the house, she saw that Nikolai was sleeping in his chair by the fire. The sight stopped her cold. Had he been waiting up for her? Would he believe her if she told she did not remember what happened?

Quietly she went into the bedroom to wash up and change her clothing. The dress she had been wearing had a stink about it, and she bundled it up, taking it with her to her workroom and shoving it into a basket. Her workroom showed signs of activity, bottles left unstoppered, the spellbook holding Varnya’s blackest spells open on the table. She glanced down at it.

The right hand page was blank. Whatever spell had been written there was gone. Only the most powerful spells disappeared after being used. What had she been doing, and why?

Shaking her head, she went back into the main room and started a fire in the stove. Tying on an apron, she rattled the pot she was making porridge in loud enough to waken Nikolai. He woke with a frown, but accepted the cup of strong tea she brought him with a grunt of thanks.

Breakfast made, they sat at the table to eat, for once having nothing to say to each other. It made for a quick meal and when they were done, Nikolai pushed back from the table.

“I must go to see how bad the damage was to the mill,” he said gruffly.

Izolda nodded, but said nothing in reply.

As she was cleaning up the breakfast things she felt a pull. Leaving the dishes half done, she went outside to determine where the pull was coming from. Her head turned this way and that. It appeared to be coming from the direction of the pond. It was a summoning spell.

Had she had all of her power she might have been able to resist it, but she was defenseless. Reluctantly she made her way to the pond where the rusalka waited.

“What do you want of me now,” she asked wearily. “Is it not enough that you have taken both of my children? Can you not at least allow me to mourn for my son in peace?”

The rusalka rose to its full height and glided towards her. It circled her, sniffing. “What have you been up to? Your power is greatly diminished. You were not foolish enough to try and bring your son back to life, were you? Even you must realize such a thing is not possible, although I would have enjoyed taking him from you again.”

“I do not know what you mean,” Izolda said irritably.

“Whatever magic you were working, it was dark magic. Do not think to deceive me.”

“I am not deceiving you.” At least she didn’t think she was.

“Just remember,” the rusalka warned. “I am not done with you yet.”

Viator Poetry Form

This poetry form was invented by Canadian author and poet Robin Skelton. It does not have an apparent meter or rhyme scheme, but it relies heavily on the continued repetition of a refrain throughout the poem.

The viator uses the first line of the first stanza as a refrain – it becomes the second line of the second stanza, the third line of the third, etc. It concludes as the final line of the final stanza.

The length of the poem will depend on the number of lines in the first stanza. For example, if you begin with a four-line stanza, your poem will have four stanzas, with the first line descending in each stanza until it becomes the fourth line of the fourth stanza.

You need to take care with how you utilize the refrain. A poorly chosen one can ruin the poem. But the refrain can also showcase things like thoughts or obsessions, and lend themselves very well to topics about everyday life. It helps if you’re able to create a refrain that can be a stand-alone line.

Rhyming is tricky because you have to take into consideration the placement of the refrain in each verse. As well, you may want to avoid a lengthy Viator – each extra line of the first stanza adds that many more stanzas – and lines – to your finished poem. If you start with a 10-line first stanza, that’s going to lead to a 100-line poem (10 stanzas of 10 lines each). You’ll find the refrain can become very repetitive very quickly.

As much as I would have liked to try to write a Viator that rhymes, it just wasn’t happening for me. Maybe I’ll try again sometime. I’ll just think of it as a challenge.


Slave to the Muse

The pen dips into the bottle of ink,
black marks appear on the blank page.
The first step is taken, the story begins.
All is quiet as the muse looks on.

The flame in the lantern flares as
the pen dips into the bottle of ink
and words begin to form on the page,
written in the darkest night.

The words do not cease to flow,
the hand writing does not tire as
the pen dips into the bottle of ink
and words flow one into another.

Pages turn before they are dry.
The hand holding the pen falters
but the muse will not let go, and
the pen dips into the bottle of ink.