Inspiration

You never know where inspiration might strike you. Each month my poetry group is given an optional, usually inspiring, “poemwork” assignment. For August the assignment was to write a mandala poem. Naturally, the first thing I did was some research on mandalas. Holy smokes was there ever a lot of it!

The accumulation of this research was followed by a day when the humidity let up enough for it to be comfortable sitting out on the deck. And as I was sitting there trying to absorb all this information, I watched the birds at the feeder and a whole other poem came to me:


Bird Watching

The grackles emptied my feeder again
but the others still come.
First is a pair of sparrows –
so small, so sweet, so loud!
A female cardinal sits on the fence, chirping
working up the courage to check out what’s left.
She flies away again, unimpressed.
A young mourning dove lights on the fence
trying to look inconspicuous.
He’s joined by a jay,
who boldly announces his presence
but stays in the shelter of the brush.
Two larger mourning doves land on the patio
and get to work amongst the detritus left behind.
Incensed, the young one swoops down
to chase the larger of the two off.
Unconcerned, the second one keeps pecking away.
It’s slim pickings
the grackles are nothing if not thorough.
The remaining mourning dove finally gives up
and flies away.
I wish I could fly with them.


A unique idea came to me for my mandala poem – I’d use all this information I gathered and do a black out poem. A black out poem is when a poet takes a black marker to a page of text (usually non-fiction) and starts covering over everything but the few key words/phrases that make their poem. The scan of my poem is below (you can click on it to make it bigger), and because I did such a poor job of blacking out the surrounding text, I’ve included the straight text version below that.

adherence to the cycle of rebirth and death
encouraged true knowledge.
understanding came up through the present
to elevate the mind.
a spiritual shift encouraged the Hindu vision.
people could not understand objections to this practice.
those who rejected the mandala insisted on establishing
the materialistic truth of one’s own pleasure.
enlightened souls freed themselves;
people suffered in a world of constant change.
shedding one’s ignorance, the soul suffers.
Mandalas journey from illusion to enlightenment.
toward the end
I gradually began to emerge from the darkness.

Blueprints and Dishes

Being the champion procrastinator I am, I of course had to try and do some research on the nursery rhyme “Hey Diddle Diddle.” Why did the dish run away with the spoon? It turns out no one knows. Unlike many nursery rhymes that have a dark side to them, this one is just as it appears – pure nonsense.

As for the blueprints . . . It doesn’t seem that long ago I did a prompt story about a secret room, so I wanted to go for something a little different. I think I succeeded. :-)


Prompt One
While preparing your garden at the beginning of spring, you find the blueprints for your house buried in the earth. When you pull it out and examine it, you find that there is a room in the blueprint that doesn’t exist in your house. Both disturbed and intrigued, you set off to find the missing room. Write what happens next.

Why would anyone brick up a storage room? That was my first thought as I stared at the wall of blocks in front of me in the basement of my new house. Was this something the previous owners had done, or did they even know about it?

I’d bought the house for a song. The kid the realtor hired to cut the grass said it had a bit of a bad reputation. Some rumour about the house reverting back to the original owner a couple of times, but I couldn’t quite recall the circumstances – foreclosure due to missed mortgage payments or something like that.

According to the blueprint I’d found – buried under a dead forsythia bush in the backyard, if you can believe it – there should be a large storage room behind this wall. It might even be big enough to use as a work shop or an extra bedroom.

The wall looked pretty solid, bricks and mortar fitting snugly together, but at the same time there was something a little odd about it. A closer examination showed a faint seam along one edge. Maybe I wouldn’t have to use a sledge hammer on it after all.

It took the better part of an hour of persistent searching, but I finally found a brick that was just faintly askew. I pushed on it and there was a click, then a section of the wall popped open enough that I could pull the hinged panel the rest of the way open.

Behind the brick, which was actually a thin layer of brick stuck to plywood, cunningly disguised to look like a solid wall, was a metal door. Curiouser and curiouser. The door had one of those wheels on it, like a ship’s hatch or a bunker, and it took both hands to get it to turn. Maybe this was one of those bomb shelters that had been all the rage in the 50s.

There was a hiss of air as the seal around the door was broken. Of course it was dark inside, but I was prepared and grabbed the flashlight I’d set aside. The flashlight didn’t brighten it by much, but I could definitely tell this was no bomb shelter. Nor were there any shelves to indicate it had been used for storage, at least not at this end. So what had it been used for?

It was a long, narrow room, and the dim light barely reached a pile of…something at the furthest end. I took a couple of steps forward and the metal door slammed shut with a clang. I swung around and the light played over the metal - there was no handle from this side of the door. I pounded on it with my fist.

“Hey! Is someone there? Let me out!” The door wasn’t on a spring and I hadn’t noticed a draft – someone had to have shut it on me. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but you need to open this door. Right now!”

The walls seemed to close in on me and I struggled to quell the rising panic. There had to be another way out. I swung the flashlight around and started towards the other end of the room.

“Oh my god.” The light from the flashlight fell on the pile of clothing. Only it wasn’t a pile of clothing, but a body. Actually, two bodies. One was desiccated, it must have been here for ten years or more. The other wasn’t quite as old, maybe five years. Looks like I’d found two sets of previous owners.

From the way they were positioned, it was apparent they’d been trying to dig their way out with their bare hands. The first had managed to break through the crumbling cinder-blocks of the basement wall, the second about three feet further than that into the earth on the other side.

A shiver passed over me. How far would I get before I died?


Prompt Two
Write a love story about the dish and the spoon from the classic nursery rhyme “Hey Diddle Diddle.” How did they meet and why did they decide to run away together? Will their relationship last?

Hey diddle diddle
The cat and the fiddle
The cow jumped over the moon
The little dog laughed
To see such sport
That the dish ran away with the spoon.

“There’s the fiddle, it’s almost time!”

Several dishes and pieces of cutlery ranged themselves along the table’s edge to get a better view. A white bread and butter plate with pink roses around its edge sidled up to a long, elegant soup spoon.

“There she goes!”

There was a ragged cheer as the cow launched herself into space and jumped over the moon.

“Here now, we’ll have none of that!” a large serving fork barked out, shoving the pretty little dish away from the spoon. “Plates go with knives and forks, spoons go with bowls.”

At that moment, the little dog started to laugh, drawing the serving fork’s attention his way.

“Quick, while he’s distracted,” the spoon said.

Holding hands, the plate and spoon slid down the long waterfall of the tablecloth, making their escape. Unfortunately, the floor below was ceramic tile. They hit hard and the bread and butter dish shattered.

The spoon lay distraught amidst the wreckage of his lady love. “There’ll never be another dish like you,” he sobbed.

“You got that right,” the serving fork called from above. “She was a limited edition collector’s plate.”

The little dog continued to laugh, a hint of madness in its voice.

Comas and Fortunes

No one is more surprised than me that not only did I come up with something for both prompts this week, I wrote them in one evening. Now, if only that energy could translate to my other writing. *sigh*

Prompt One
You were involved in a terrible car accident and have been in a coma for the past three months. What your family and the doctors don’t know is that you can hear everything that they say. Write the scene.

“Is it true her husband was driving the car?” a young voice asked. Probably another candy striper. There seemed to be an abundance of them in this place.

“It’s true,” a second voice answered. It sounded like Sherry. She must have pulled a day shift this week. “Walked away without a scratch.”

“Isn’t that, like, kind of suspicious?”

“Not my place to say,” Sherry said a little stiffly. “Don’t you have magazines to deliver or bedpans to clean?”

There was a sound of someone leaving the room in a huff. A few seconds later I felt a pat on my head.

“Don’t worry, dear,” Sherry said. “He won’t get away with it.” Then she left too.

Get away with what? I wondered.

I must have dozed off because the next thing I knew I was awakened by the sound of many voices. Oh, good. Time for the family free-for-all.

“Oh, my poor baby!” Sniff, sniff. “She doesn’t even look alive.” Sniff, sniff.

My dear mother.

“Of course she’s alive, my father said irritably. “Just look at that heart monitor.” Was he annoyed at my mother or the fact my heart was still beating?

“Why do I have to be here? I’m missing the field trip. It’s not like she can hold up her end of the conversation.” That ray of sunshine would be my sister Cathy. Such a joy.

“It’s too crowded in here.” Sherry’s voice came like a blessing from above.

“It’s all right nurse,” my father said. “We were just leaving anyway.”

It was quiet for a long time after that, then I hear footsteps. Someone was in my room – a man, judging by the smell of his cologne. A second set of footsteps joined the first and then I was forced to endure the war of the aftershaves.

“I thought you said the respirator was the only thing keeping her alive? She’s been off of it for a week now, why is she still alive?” Ah, the dulcet tones of my loving husband.

“I told you in most cases the patient will expire on their own within a few days of being taken off of their respirators.” That was my doctor, my least favourite of them anyway.

“Well what are you going to do about it?”

“What do you mean, what am I going to do?”

“I paid you a lot of money—”

“To keep her in a coma and take her off the respirator, which I did.”

“She was supposed to die!”

“Keep your voice down,” the doctor hissed.

“I wouldn’t have to if you’d just done your job right.”

“I already did more than I should. I’m done here.”

“Well what am I supposed to do? She could live for years like this.”

“Why don’t you hold a pillow over her face. I’ll put in my report she simply stopped breathing.”

“Fine. But the least you can do is keep watch.”

Seriously? This was how it was going to end for me?

“Hold it right there! You’re both under arrest for conspiracy to commit murder.”

Was that Sherry’s voice?

“I don’t understand.” That was the doctor’s voice.

“We’ve had you under surveillance for a long time, Doctor Death. I’ve been working under cover her for the last six months – I have enough evidence to put you away for life.”

“Good work, officer,” my husband began.

“Nice try, slime ball. We know what happened to your wife was no accident.”

There was the sound of more people arriving, then Sherry’s voice again.

“Take ‘em away, boys. And no need to be gentle.”

There were the usual protests from my husband and the doctor as they were led away, then all was quiet again. But I had the sense someone was still in the room.

“Don’t worry, sweetie.” Sherry patted my hand. “You’re going to make a full recovery. Maybe even in time for their trial.”

Talk about incentive for getting better!


Prompt Two
A fortune teller at the local county fair tells you two things. She tells you something good that will happen, and something awful that will happen. What are these events or incidents?

When the fortune teller told me I’d be meeting a tall, handsome strange who’d sweep me off my feet, I nearly laughed. I mean really, don’t all fortune tellers tell you that? But then three days later I met Brian, tall, handsome Brian whom I’m madly in love with.

The other part of her prediction, the one about how I’d be leaving everything behind to go to a better place, like people do when they die, completely slipped my mind until much later.

It wasn’t until I got the message on my answering machine from my doctor’s office that I suddenly remembered the second prediction. I’d gone in for a routine check up and tests, and now the doctor wanted to see me in his office.

“Babe,” Brian said when he came home that night. “Where are you? We have something important to discuss.”

He followed the sound of my sniffles to the living room. Whatever he was going to tell me was forgotten as he held me in his arms and I poured my heart out to him.

“What if it’s cancer?” I asked, my voice cracking.

“Whatever it is, we’ll give it a good fight. I just found you, I’m not going to let you go that easily.”

He came with me to the doctor’s office the next day. We sat there holding hands as the doctor swept in.

“Look at you two,” the doctor said, shaking his head. “Who died?”

I flinched . Brian tightened his hold on my hand.

“Just cut to the chase, Doc,” Brian said.

“Fine, fine. That cough you’ve had is a little more serious than we thought. It’s that lung problem you were treated for when you were little.”

“But I thought you said I’d be fine as long as I took care of myself during damp weather.”

“Yes, but that was 15 years ago. We’ve had a series of cold, damp winters and high humidity in the summer. And it’s starting to take its toll on your health.”

“What can we do?” Brian asked when I couldn’t speak.

“You really need to spend some time in a drier climate. Move there if you can.”

“Move?” I squeaked out.

“I know it means leaving everything behind – friends, family, job – but you’ll be in a better place for your health.”

“A better place?” I repeated weakly. I turned to look at Brian. “Why do you look so happy?”

“My company offered me a promotion, but it would mean moving to Arizona.”

“Arizona would be perfect,” the doctor beamed.

“I’ve always wanted to live in the desert,” I told Brian with a smile.

“And it’ll be a great place to raise the baby,” the doctor added.

“Baby?” we chorused, looking at him in shock. “What baby?”

The doctor just smiled.

Man, It's May?

Funny thing about time, it stands still for no one. Least of all for struggling authors.

Given my lack of posts here, one might get the impression that I've been slacking off on the writing or something, but that's not true at all. I've actually been doing okay in the writing department, it's the editing I've been slacking off on. My own editing that is. Give me someone else's book to work on and I'm a happy camper. My own, well . . . not so much. :-D

I will admit that I've been a little low on motivation these last few weeks, but I take heart in the fact that I'm not alone. Several other authors I keep tabs on through their blogs or Facebook are also rather unmotivated. Maybe it's something in the air, like pollen?

Because author cannot live by editing alone, I've started a new story, the first of a trilogy. I'm not quite sure how to categorize them, they start out contemporary and then kind of segue into fantasy/paranormal. They're connected by a common prologue, but each should be able to stand alone as well.

My focus for the month of May is going to be to finish up with Lucky Dog. I've really been dragging my heals with this one, and there's no good reason for it. I had the draft finished before Christmas, so it should have been released into the wilds by now. My only excuse is that I'm intimidated by its sheer length - 300 pages and over 100,000 words. I would really like to pare it down to a respectable 80,000 words, but . . .

I've had my mind set on getting it out there first, not just because I finished the draft in November, but because I've had so many people asking about it. Give the people what they want, eh? However, I have to admit that it would have been smarter to do the edits on An Elemental Earth first, because it's a cleaner draft to work with and if I'd timed it right, I could have released it on Earth Day. Now wouldn't that have been cool?

Yes, it would have been the smarter thing to do, but no one's ever accused me of being overly smart. :-D

So here's the plan, such as it is:
Finish up the edits Lucky Dog so I can get it to my betas this month and hopefully publish it in June
Edit and publish An Elemental Earth by July
Finish writing Wandering Wizards, the third in the Moonstone Chronicles
Start writing An Elemental Spirit, the fifth, and final book in the Ardraci Elementals series
And at the same time I'll also be working on the first in my Wishing Star trilogy, simply because I've already started the first book. Yes, I can write more than one book at a time. ;-)

You notice Guardian isn't on the list? While I'm glad I took the time to actually finish one of my NaNo novels, I'm not in a big hurry to get it out there. It's the start of a new series and I already have two series on the go. Three if you count the Wishing Star. So no rush for it.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Anybody out there like serials? Personally, I love them. I read so fast normally that sometimes it's refreshing to read a story that stretches out for a long period of time.

My bestie Jamie has started not one, not two, but THREE new on-line stories that will be updated each Friday. Now the installments are only up for a week and they started last week, but if you email her nicely, she send you the installment you missed.

On The Variety Pages we have Live With Me the sequel to Sleep With Me
Her alter-ego Alex Westhaven has a story guaranteed to make your skin crawl called Dry Rain. Having been plagued by a moth problem in the past, this is really hitting home for me.
And her alter-ego Trinity Marlow has started a story called Sailing Blind that is sure to heat things up on those chilly spring nights. ;-)

And if that weren't enough, you can also sign up for newsletters from Jamie and her alter-egos and have installments from three entirely different stories sent to your inbox each month. Romance, thrilling suspense, steam - there's something for everyone. Seriously, it doesn't get much better than that!