The Raven

Seeing as last night was All Hallows Eve and today is All Saints Day (tomorrow is All Souls Day), I thought I’d do something a little different. I have many poems that deal with the spirit season, but I think none are more appropriate than The Raven, by Edgar Allan Poe.

Today I’m not only sharing this classic poem, but I’ve included a video so you can listen to the great Vincent Price recite it as you read. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.





The Raven

by Edgar Allan Poe

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
“’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door—
Only this and nothing more.”

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore—
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
“’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door—
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;—
This it is and nothing more.”

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
“Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you”—here I opened wide the door;—
Darkness there and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore?”
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!”—
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
“Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore—
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;—
’Tis the wind and nothing more!”

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door—
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door—
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore—
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door—
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as “Nevermore.”

But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing farther then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered—
Till I scarcely more than muttered “Other friends have flown before—
On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before.”
Then the bird said “Nevermore.”

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
“Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore—
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of ‘Never—nevermore’.”

But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore—
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking “Nevermore.”

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,
But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
“Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore;
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!—
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—
On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore—
Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore—
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

“Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting—
“Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted—nevermore!

It’s A-Comin’!

As Isaac Newton observed, objects in motion tend to stay in motion. When writing your first draft, being busy is key. It may feel frustrating at first, but having daily writing periods curtailed by chores, family, and other distractions actually helps you get the thing done. This is partly because the hectic pace forces you to type with a fleet-fingered desperation. But it’s mostly because noveling in the midst of a chaotic life makes “book time” a treat rather than an obligation. It’s a small psychological shift, but it makes all the difference in the world.
― Chris Baty

There's an old folk saying that goes: whenever you delete a sentence from your NaNoWriMo novel, a NaNoWriMo angel loses its wings and plummets, screaming, to the ground. Where it will likely require medical attention.
― Chris Baty

Deadlines bring focus, forcing us to make time for the achievements we would otherwise postpone, encouraging us to reach beyond our conservative estimates of what we think possible, helping us to wrench victory from the jaws of sleep.
― Chris Baty

Yes, that’s right. It’s almost time for NaNoWriMo. Never heard of it? What, seriously? Have you been living under a rock or something? Well let me enlighten you.

National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo or NaNo for short) takes place during the month of November. The goal is to write 50,000 words in 30 days – that’s 1667 words per day, for those of you who are mathematically challenged.

In a nutshell, it started in July of 1999 with Chris Baty and consisted of 21 writers. They had so much fun that in 2000 it was moved to the month of November (because it’s such a grey and dismal month and there’s nothing better to do) and they created an official website as well as a few ground rules: you had to use new words only, you couldn’t have a co-author, and your word count had to be verified by the end of the month. They had 140 people sign up – about 30 of them finished.

The next year, to Baty’s astonishment, 5,000 people signed up with 700 finishing, and it’s been growing steadily larger ever since. Last year there were 413,295 participants with 51,670 finishing.

I first attempted NaNo in 2006. I say attempted because I had no clue what I was doing and my story ended at 35,000 words. I missed the next year but in 2008 I completed the challenge, as I did for the next 6 years in a row. I did not participate in 2015, figuring I had enough un-finished books on my hard drive, but I got back in the saddle in 2016 and have been participating ever since. You might find it ironic that my 2017 novel was a sequel to my failed 2006 one.

NaNo is fun, NaNo is frustrating, NaNo is addictive. I totally regret the year I skipped it – I felt itchy the whole month and didn’t really get anything else accomplished. And I don’t know about anyone else, but it’s something that can’t be duplicated at any other time of the year. Under a deadline? Why not try a January NaNo? Nope. Doesn’t work. You have to do it at the same time as the other crazy people around the world.

And what do you get if you finish? Three things: a 50,000(+) word novel, the satisfaction of completing a challenge, and a shiny winner’s certificate that you can download and print off. And maybe you’ll have made a few friends along the way by attending local write-ins.

If you’d like to learn more or sign up, visit their WEBSITE . They’ve redesigned it a few times over the years, and you no longer have to copy/paste your finished novel into their validation thingamajig because the number of participants became too large. Now it’s strictly on the honour system.

And while you’re there, check out all the NaNo stuff you can buy. I have probably 10 tee-shirts from the various years, two hoodies, the NaNo USB bracelet, a NaNo travel cup, and two different sizes of NaNo thermoses (which sadly are no longer available).

This will be my 16th time participating. Normally in late October I go through a whole should I/shouldn’t I phase, but I skipped it this year. I mean, who am I kidding? Doing NaNo is some of the best crazy fun a writer can have.

Do I have an idea yet? Nope. Am I worried? Maybe just a little. After all, NaNo is just a couple of days away. But hey, this won’t be the first time I’ve started with a totally blank slate (and kicked myself for it). And if I write 50,000 words of absolute gibberish, who’s going to know but me?

That’s the beauty of NaNoWriMo.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

WORDAGE REPORT

THE WEEK IN REVIEW
The word for last week is . . . progress! It’s about time, isn’t it?

The weather was more crappy than not – grey and dismal. And the temperature rose enough to make it humid on top of that. Thursday we were shrouded in fog, which enticed me to go down to the waterfront to take pictures. And Friday was so warm that I opened the window in my office. And immediately wished I hadn’t. The groove the window slides up into was covered in lady bugs. I must have removed over a dozen of them (and yes, I took them outside to release them) and I think a couple still escaped into the house.

The first half of the week I was tired and lethargic, but I still managed to get stuff done, and from Thursday on I was smokin’.

There were no more mice spotted, although one night the cats and I heard noises on the outer wall of the living room. It might have been the wind, it might have been birds trying to get seeds/insects caught in the siding, it might have been mice climbing the outer wall and trying to get under the siding. No idea. And frankly it kind of creeps me out to think about it.

And for about three nights in a row the cats heard something high up in the dining room. They both crowded onto the topmost platform of the cat tree and stared holes at the very top of the outer wall, just above the deck door. I’m hoping it was a squirrel digging for nuts, or storing nuts, in the eavestrough. It only happens at night though.

Despite the higher temperatures, it’s really starting to look like fall outside. The leaves on the trees seemed to start changing all at once, and the wind and the rain helped dislodge them. I need to take a walk in the park before it’s too late.

There’s nothing like kicking through the crisp, fallen leaves to put a smile on my face.

NEW WORDS:
2821+381+336+1079=4,617
DOWN: 576 – words

No surprise here, seeing as my posts were back to normal length.

For the first time in a long time, I can honestly say I had no late nights getting blog posts done. In fact, most of them were done before dinner. If that’s not progress I don’t know what is. :-)

Aside from getting all of my blog posts done, with ease I might add, I also got the rest of my notes transcribed from Writersfest, such as they are. There weren’t as many as I thought there were, so I also wrote a wrap-up post for Writersfest.

I’d been doing so well, all week long, that Thursday night I just kind of relaxed, forgetting completely about Fiction Friday. I had already decided to post an excerpt from my very first NaNo.

Goals For Next Week:
Keep up the good work with the blogs; settle on an idea for NaNoWriMo

POETRY:
Finally! A form that was a little more challenging. It was kind of accidental, too. I just got so into the form that I automatically wrote the example for it.

There was a poetry gathering last week, but I had a migraine and didn’t go. The poemwork was to write a gothic poem, which is a kind of fun assignment for this time of year. We’re back in the church for our gatherings, so it’s kind of ironic that the weather was unseasonably warm.

I also finished one form, ready for posting, and I have three forms that just need an example. Also, I have the research done on three more. So I’m not as far ahead as I was hoping to be at this point, but I’m getting there.

Goal For Next Week:
Keep working on the new forms; get some examples written.

CRAFTING:
Tuesday was my regular guild meeting, where those of us who were doing the woven fabric baskets were supposed to finish them. Yes, I said supposed to. I had done my stitching homework, so my basket was as far along as the others. The actual weaving wasn’t too bad, but keeping it together was. We didn’t have nearly enough straight pins, so I’ll be finishing my basket at home.

I didn’t have much time for stitching outside of the guild meeting, but I did make some progress on my zentangle sampler. I’ve got another square almost finished, and I know what I want to do for the fourth one, but I seriously doubt I’ll have it finished in time to turn it into a tote bag for the retreat.

Speaking of the retreat, I’m going to need to start thinking about what I’m taking with me. Maybe the zentangle, maybe the kit, maybe something else altogether. Most of the participants are from the Toronto guild, and I don’t want to look like a dork in front of them.

Goal For Next Week:
Finish my basket, work on zentangle.

WHAT I’M READING:
I finished Spells For Lost Things, by Jenna Evans Welch, and really enjoyed it. Now I’m reading The Invisible Hour by Alice Hoffman.

On the Kindle I’ve started Pawsitively Poisonous, by Melissa Erin Jackson. To be honest, I didn’t do as much reading last week as I’ve been doing.

Goal For Next Week:
Keep up the moderate reading habits; update my Goodreads.

THE WEEK AHEAD:

Despite the crappy weather, that new leaf of mine might have gotten a little bigger. It may even have a new shoot or two trying to sprout. Hopefully I can keep nurturing it this week.

Well, despite this being fall now, that new leaf of mine is beginning to grow. I spent a lot of quality time in my office. A bit of goofing off time too, but mostly productive time. And the funny thing is, I kind of enjoyed it. I want to keep up the good work in the week ahead.

Tuesday is the supplement meeting of the stitchers at the library. I don’t know about anyone else, but I fully intend to show up in costume. It is Halloween you know. I’m even going to make myself a wig of green hair and I got some cheap red shoes to supplement my witch’s outfit.

There are three poetry forms that need their information distilled down, and three that need examples. Let’s see how far I can get with them.

I’ll be using another excerpt for Fiction Friday this week, I won’t be far enough into NaNo to post something fresh. That is, supposing I’m able to settle on an idea and actually start NaNo. It would be so much easier if I could come up with an idea in say, September, so I’d have time to research it. But at this point I’ll be happy just to have an idea by Wednesday.

Well, I didn’t get any extra sewing done, nor did I start any knitting or crocheting. No Christmas crafts either. When I wasn’t struggling, then last week was all about the writing. Which is a good thing, going into NaNo.

It’s unlikely I’ll be squeezing a lot of craft work in during NaNo season, but you never know. I guess it depends on how fast I can write.

I made a couple of lists last week, and they really helped, even if I didn’t get everything done on them. It was actually thanks to those lists that I got my Fiction Friday up on time. As I was sitting there, waiting for the grocery stores to open, I glanced at the list from the day before to see what I’d missed, and there it was – "find excerpt for blog post". I was late to start my grocery shopping, but I got the post up on time.

So, lists for sure this week. They help keep me focused and they give me some structure to my day. And lord knows, I can use some structure.

First NaNo Excerpt

And by first NaNo, I mean the very fist NaNo I ever participated in, way back in 2006. As you read, I’m sure you’ll notice how much my writing has improved since then. :-)

This is from a story called Driving Into Forever. The premise is, a woman is driving home in the fog and ends driving through some kind of dimensional shift and ends up crashing into a tree. She’s found by a group of scientists who are researching this phenomena they call the Myste. In this scene, she and the nephew of one of these scientists are going on a excursion back to her car to remove the stereo – one of the things they do is look for other technology. Oh, and Hannah and Kelvin are attracted to each other (in case you couldn’t guess), only Kelvin seems to be fighting it.

Sorry about the poor quality of the cover picture, but I couldn't find my original and had to pull this off the NaNo site, which apparently has changed the sizing of their covers.

“Good morning, sleepy heads,” Hannah called to Kelvin and Terrell as they finally put in an appearance for breakfast. Always an early riser, she’d been up for over an hour, and in decidedly good spirits.

“Sorry we’re late,” Terrell said. “Kelvin kept me awake with his tossing and turning.”

“Really,” Hannah grinned and turned to Kelvin, “Trouble sleeping?”

“Not at all,” he replied, sending her a look that made her tingle all over.

While they helped themselves to breakfast, Hannah went over to where Colby and Padraic had an assortment of tools waiting for her. She picked through them carefully, looking for tools that not only looked familiar but would aid in removing the stereo system from the jeep. By the time she had half a dozen of the most helpful looking instruments assembled, Kelvin was finished with breakfast and waiting for her.

“Are you sure you’re up for this?” he asked. “I could take Terrell with me.”

“And you both know what a car stereo looks like?” she asked. “And how to remove it? It’s okay, Kelvin. I’ll be fine, really.”

“All right then,” he said, handing her a breather. He picked up the pack and slung it over his shoulder. “Let’s go.”

“Good luck,” Terrell called after them.

It might have just been Hannah’s imagination, but the Myste seemed thicker than usual as they followed the trail. The trail seemed longer, narrower too. Maybe it was just the oppressive silence and the eternal gloom. She shivered and stayed close behind Kelvin. Finally they reached the spot where they needed to leave the trail.

Hannah was so busy looking around nervously that she didn’t realize Kelvin had stopped until she walked right into him. Reflexively he put his arms out to catch her and they stood there for a few seconds, staring into each other’s eyes. Kelvin’s arms tightened a fraction and her breath caught, but instead of the kiss she expected, he gently released her. She felt like grinding her teeth in frustration.

“This is it,” he told her unnecessarily, stepping back. “We’ll need the breathers from here.”

Although she felt more like smacking the back of his dense head, she watched him put his breather on and then followed suit. Holding on tight to the guide wire, she followed him into the Myste. The path twisted and turned and if she didn’t know better she’d swear it was longer. At last they reached the wreck.

“My poor jeep!” Hannah exclaimed, through the breather.

It was little more than a rusted out shell. Kelvin passed her a pair of heavy gloves to protect her hands as they carefully peeled back the sagging roof. The interior seemed to be still relatively untouched by the Myste, the seats and the dash board anyway. Hannah nodded to Kelvin and tried to open the door. It seemed to be rusted shut; she tried again but it was stuck fast.

Kelvin motioned her to the side so he could try his luck. Muscles rippling beneath his shirt he gave a mighty heave and wrenched the door not only open, but off the hinges entirely. Hannah’s eyes widened in appreciation.

He handed her the tools and she ducked into the jeep to remove the stereo system. She’d laughed at Sara at the time, but now she was grateful that Sara had sweet-talked that same teenager into installing a similar system in her own car. Hannah had watched him do it and now had a vague idea of how to remove it with the least amount of damage.

Once she’d removed the screws and disconnected the wiring, Hannah passed the stereo to Kelvin who placed it carefully in a protective bag. On a whim she popped open the glove box. The contents were untouched by the Myste and Hannah removed another half-dozen CDs and a personal CD player. She handed these to Kelvin as well, who looked at them curiously before covering them carefully in more protective wrapping and stowing them in his pack.

He waited patiently while she had one long, last look at her last link with her old life, then gently took her hand and led her back into the Myste. Hannah was not the only one who felt the Myste was thicker, Kelvin noticed it too. They only went a short distance when he stopped suddenly.

“What is it?” Hannah asked, voice muffled by her breather.

“The guide wire, it’s not right.”

“What do you mean it’s not right?”

The desire to protect her warred with the desire to be honest. “I have what my Aunt calls an over developed sense of direction, that’s why she prefers me to lead any forays into the Myste when Raynor isn’t available.”

“And what’s your sense of direction telling you right now?”

“That we’re going the wrong way.”

“What should we do?”

He hesitated. “I’m probably wrong, the Myste can be very disorienting. We should keep going.”

They went a few more yards and the guide wire grew lax in their hands. A few steps further and Kelvin stopped again. “It’s been cut.”

“What?”

“The guide wire,” he turned to show her the loose end. “It’s been cut.”

“But why? Who would do something like this?”

The roiling Myste seemed more oppressive, a shiver went down her spine at the thought of someone trying to deliberately strand them out here.

“I don’t know.”

Trimeric Verse Form

This form was invented by Dr. Charles A. Stone (which seems to be a pseudonym), a retired professor, a poet, and an entrepreneur. Dr. Stone has published poetry in many journals and anthologies and published three nonfiction books. Check out his books HERE.

The Trimeric (tri-(meh)-rik) is a short poem of just thirteen lines. It has four stanzas, consisting of a quatrain (four lines), and three tercets (three lines).

While there is no rhyme or syllable count, and the lines can be however long or short you want to make them, the tercets each start with a refrain. Line 2 of the first verse becomes the first line of the second verse; line 3 of the first verse becomes the first line of the third verse, and line 4 of the first verse becomes the first line of the fourth verse.

Without a syllable count I can’t really do a schematic, but the endings of the first verse would be a-b-c-d. and the following verses would begin b * *, c * *, d * *

It takes a little more thought than the forms I’ve been offering lately, but I found it to be just as much fun. This is a great form for anyone who doesn’t like a strict rhyme and rhythm format.


Life is fueled by dreaming things
Ask the trees, they’ll tell you the truth
The stars dance to their own tune
While the world continues to spin

Ask the trees, they’ll tell you the truth
They’ve been here from the beginning
And their knowledge is vast

The stars dance to their own tune
Cosmic music only they can hear
Eternal in its beauty

While the world continues to spin
The rest of the universe grows old
Entropy always wins

Publishing 101 – Writersfest Part III

A person who publishes a book willfully appears before the populace with his pants down. If it is a good book nothing can hurt him. If it is a bad book nothing can help him.
― Edna St. Vincent Millay

Publishing a book is like stuffing a note into a bottle and hurling it into the sea. Some bottles drown, some come safe to land, where the notes are read and then possibly cherished, or else misinterpreted, or else understood all too well by those who hate the message. You never know who your readers might be.
― Margaret Atwood

I often think publishing a book is like doing a poo. Once it's ready for the world, you have to relinquish that control and let nature take its course. A few will be impressed by your creation, others will be disgusted. Plus, no one will enjoy your success and achievement in producing it as much as you did.
― H.O. Charles

This was actually the third workshop I attended at Writersfest, the first one of day two. The late afternoon workshop on my first day there was cancelled, so I took the opportunity to do a little shopping. :-D

You’ve drafted, edited, spit, and polished. Now that the writing is done, how do you get it in people’s hands so they can read it? Hazel Millar and Jay Millar have been the dynamic force behind Book*hug Press, a radically optimistic Canadian independent publisher working at the forefront of contemporary book culture, for two decades. Come with your burning questions!

To be honest, this was more of a lecture than a workshop, there wasn’t much for us to do except sit there and listen, and take a few notes as they went through how they got started and then expanded.

They began as a small press imprint, growing from there until they became the fully independent publisher they are today. And they did it all without any corporate funding. They were able to build and curate their catalogue on their own terms. They look for voices that aren’t being published through other means, contributing to an expanding landscape, publishing about twenty books a year.

They started in 2004 by publishing translations of poetry, then novels. Before long they weren’t just publishing translations, they were publishing novels and anthologies as well. Their goal was to make the work as public as possible, and to that end they did all the marketing and publicizing themselves. The book market in Canada is the most saturated in the world.

They have an open submission policy, which means they are open to submissions all year round, and are most interested in writing that takes risks and challenges and pushes the boundaries of cultural expectations. A general guide for manuscript length is as follows:

Poetry – 72 to 100 pages
Anthologies – 8 to 10 stories (which seems like a low number to me)
Novels – 50 to 80 thousand words

Submissions are made with hard copies, no electronic submission. They create traditional trade paper copies first, then e-books and audiobooks as needed.

They went on at length about copyright violations and permissions. You are not to use song lyrics in your novel unless you’re paying for those rights. Everything needs to be credited and permissions granted. Passages in the public domain of less than a sentence do not need to be permissioned.

Only about 10% of the book’s list price goes to the author. If an advance is paid (which it usually is) you do not start receiving royalties until the advance is cleared. If the advance doesn’t clear, you don’t have to pay it back, you just don’t receive any royalties.

This workshop was definitely not what I was expecting, but it was still full of interesting information.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

WORDAGE REPORT

THE WEEK IN REVIEW
Last week’s word is . . . heartening, which is a synonym for “encouraging,” which I believe I’ve already used. :-)

The weather was not in my favor last week, it was dull and dismal and occasionally rainy, which depleted my energy and generally made me want to just curl up in my recliner with a cat or two and a cup of tea and just read.

However, despite another encounter of the mousey kind, a whole day away, and a doctor’s appointment, the blog posts all got done. I was up super late Tuesday night finishing my poetry post, but that was more me not planning ahead than anything else.

The new fridge isn’t so bad, and I’m trying not to get too attached to it. I like that the freezer is bigger than the one in the old one, and that it has flat glass shelves. Also, I like the deli drawer in the fridge part and there seems to be more space for stuff in the fridge door.

They did not have a floor model of the fridge we have on order, so we can only go by the pictures on the internet. While I like the idea of a bottom drawer for the freezer, I’m pretty sure it’s a wire drawer, which I don’t like. And I don’t think the fridge part is laid out as nicely as the loaner. It’s too bad we couldn’t have taken our time picking it out.

The father-in-law became sick enough Tuesday evening, that the hubby and his brother took him up to the hospital to be looked at. Having spent the entire day at a stitchery retreat, I took advantage of the hubby being gone to get to work on my poetry form for Wednesday.

I had abandoned the form I was going to use in favor of a simpler one, when I hear the cats playing with something in the hallway. Then I heard squeaking. You guessed it, they caught another mouse and were having a grand old time playing with it.

This little sucker was really fast, and the cats were relentless, so I was not able to catch it to put it outside. Eventually it escaped down to the basement, the cats hot on its heels, and I thought that would be the end of it. It would either find a place to hide – plenty of them in the basement – or the cats would kill it.

After about half an hour, Dinsdale came proudly up the stairs, carrying the mouse in his jaws. He brought it to the middle of the living room . . . and let it go. The poor thing was still alive. The chase was on again, and again I tried (and failed) to catch it. I gave up when they all headed for my office, and tried to focus on my poetry post.

There was no sign of a corpse, and the next day they appeared to have lost interest. I wasn’t sure if it had escaped or they ate it, but at least it was gone. Then Thursday morning I was in my office working, and Dinsdale was in the hubby’s office playing. I realized he was playing with a mouse (dead this time). I didn’t know if it was the one from Tuesday and they’d just stashed the corpse in there to play with later, or a new one, but I closed the door to my office so he couldn’t bring it to me to throw for him and waited for the hubby to get up to dispose of it.

Then Friday morning the little monsters played a Halloween prank on me. They left their stuffed mice at the bottom of the stairs for me to step on when I got up. It was really dark, and I couldn’t see what I was stepping on. Not funny kitties!

NEW WORDS:
2522+1313+237+1121=5,193
UP: 386 – words

This is mostly due to my Monday post being extra long. I really should have made it into a couple of posts – I left out a lot of stuff I could have said – but it was getting late and I was in a rush.

The end of Winter’s Child is where the word “heartening” comes in. Not that I finished another serial, but that I got it done and scheduled on Thursday. I didn’t start working on it until late in the morning, but by lunch time I had the creature’s part done. I broke for lunch and then started on James’s part. So far so good.

Because of the weather, I had a bad headache brewing. So I made myself a cup of tea and took an Advil. When I went back into my office I had the music going, and I was texting with the daughter, and I was feeling frazzled because the scene wasn’t going well. And I don’t know what happened, but I accidentally exited the document without saving. My entire scene was wiped out. Gone. Vanished.

There may have been a bit of cursing. There definitely was a hissy fit involved. There might have even been a bit of name calling aimed towards the lap top, Word 2019, and Windows in general. But once I got it out of my system I took a deep breath, turned off the music, ignored the phone, and started writing.

And I still had the scene finished before supper. If that’s not heartening, I don’t know what it.

Goals For Next Week:
Keep up the good work with the blogs; find an idea for NaNoWriMo

POETRY:
Yeah, I know I said something about trying a form that was a little more challenging, but after spending the whole day at the stitching retreat, and then the whole mouse thing, it just wasn’t going to happen. I did have a more complicated form partially done, but not the example. Ironically, I may have been better off doing that one because I still had to do the research for the easier form. But if you read my Wednesday post, you’ll understand what inspired my examples.

The examples can sometimes be as time-consuming as the informational portion of the poetry posts, which is why I’m trying to get them done ahead of time for NaNo. This will cut my blogging time in half. And if I have time to do the examples ahead of time as well, so much the better. So far I have three forms waiting for an example, and four more waiting to be researched.

Goal For Next Week:
Keep working on the new forms; get some examples written.

CRAFTING:
Tuesday was the one-day retreat with the stitchery guild. The place we held it was out in the country, a restaurant turned wellness spa and inn. I’ll go into more detail about it on my Monday post, but we had a wonderful time, and I’m sure we’ll be back again.

We were given a large, sunny room with a view, and all the tea, coffee, and water we liked. At noon we broke for lunch, and a few of us went for a walk along the trail that took us deep into the surrounding woods. At four o’clock we packed up our stuff, and then went into the dining room for high tea. All in all, it was a lovely day.

I took both my zentangle and my kit with me to work on, and I’m happy to be able to say I worked on them both. Maybe not as much as I should have, but any progress is good progress, right?

I did pull out my kit to work on Thursday night while I was watching Loki, but the action was so good I really didn’t get much stitching done. LOL

Goal For Next Week:
Get my stitchery homework done.

WHAT I’M READING:
It took a couple of days before I started looking for a new tree book, but I finally settled on Spells For Lost Things, by Jenna Evans Welch. I didn’t realize when I picked it that it was Y/A, but I like reading them every once in awhile, and so far I’m enjoying it.

On the Kindle I finished Mystic Pieces, by Ada Bell, and then read Of Potions and Portents, by Nyx Halliwell.

Goal For Next Week:
Keep up the moderate reading habits; update my Goodreads.

THE WEEK AHEAD:

Despite the crappy weather, that new leaf of mine might have gotten a little bigger. It may even have a new shoot or two trying to sprout. Hopefully I can keep nurturing it this week.

This is the week for digging down and establishing regular office hours. NaNo is just a week and a half away and if I’m going to have a prayer, I need to get into a writing routine now. I have optimistically ordered my winner’s tee-shirt, so there’s no going back.

Tuesday is a regular meeting with the stitchery guild, and I have yet to complete my homework, so I’ll have to get that done on Monday. And if I’m going to have the sewing machine out anyway, I might as well make a skirt or two for the fall. I have the patterns and the material, I just need to cut them out and sew them.

I have three poetry posts that just need examples to finish them off, and I have four more I’d like to research. The research is usually pretty easy, it’s the distilling it down into a post that’s the time consuming part. But if I do it this week, then that’s more time for writing during NaNo.

You may have noticed that I took Editing out of the wordage report. Seriously, who am I kidding? I haven’t been doing much in the way of editing since I finished with the hard copy of Elemental Spirt, and it’s highly unlikely I’ll be doing any during NaNo. I may, or may not, add it back in for December, but most likely it’ll be gone until the New Year.

I’m really happy with the way Winter’s Child turned out. I think this is the story it was always meant to be, I just lacked the skill to do it when I first came up with the idea. For this week’s Fiction Friday post I’m probably going to use an excerpt from my first (failed) NaNo. I don’t want to get into anything new right before NaNo, and I’m not even sure I want to start another serial. Maybe in the new year.

AND I have to settle on an idea for NaNo. I have three or four possibilities, and a couple that have been discarded because they need more research than I have time for. I’m leaning towards one I have a one page synopsis for. It’s not much to go on, but I went with less than that a few years ago when I wrote Shattered for NaNo. The beauty of it is that it’s completely unrelated to anything else I’ve got going on, but I could actually tweak it so it becomes a sequel to Shattered.

I would like a sweater to go with one of those as yet unmade skirts I want to sew. And the easiest way to get one that fits right and I like is to knit it myself. Having my evenings free to do crafting in front of the TV is all well and good, but I need something a little more mindless than stitching if this is going to work. I have to pay too much attention to what I’m doing when I stitch, but once you get into a rhythm with the knitting/crocheting, it doesn’t take the same focus.

And there’s always the Christmas stuff I could be doing. I have some crocheted snowflakes done, all they need is to be stiffened. I’m nor sure if there’s anything else I could be doing in front of the TV, but it might be worth a look in my dresser of craft supplies.

I had a nice balance between tree reading and e-reading last week, and I’m hoping to keep this up this week.

I managed to make it through last week without the aid of my lists, but I still think it might be a good idea to start them up again, just to keep the track headed in the right direction. The forecast for next week is a mix of sun and rain, so a list might help combat the energy sink from that too.

I need all the help I can get.

Winter's Child - Conclusion

After lulling the young one to sleep, I set aside the reeds I had been playing. For reasons I did not fully understand, I did not wish to leave yet. Nor did I believe I was supposed to enjoy playing with the young one as I had. It was difficult to feel aggression in the face of such joy.

I began to sculpt the snow beside the nest, working noiselessly with minimal movement, as I’d been taught when I was much younger. One of the many-spired buildings of the old times began to take shape, something from before the transformation. The young one seemed to like the pictures I drew in the ice of this the best.

Sometimes, during the times of warmth when we were trapped on the mountain, the old ones would create sculptures for entertainment. They were beautiful, delicate structures, some purely visual, others designed so that the wind blowing through them would create music.

There were those among us who began to question the ways we had adopted. They preferred to stay high in the mountains, creating their sculptures and music. When pressed to do their duty to the clan, they simply gathered their things and moved to another mountain. In time, we lost all contact with them.

This war with the humans had gone on for centuries, and from what I could see, few humans were even aware of our existence any more. Was this to be how I ended my days, picking you off, one by one. I derived no satisfaction from your deaths.

I have seen ages pass. Is it possible to have lived too long? Though winter is far from over, I can smell a tang in the air that means a thaw is coming. I look at the young one sleeping so peacefully, so trusting. I must return to my mountain.

I will not be back down again.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Though Frank was adamant everyone was to look with a buddy, James searched apart from the others. His voice grew hoarse from calling and the cold seeped into his bones. How cold must poor Joey be feeling?

He wished his father were here, he knew these woods like the back of his hand, in fact he had been a volunteer for the search and rescue, often leading the way. Then he grimaced at the thought. This was the kind of weather Joseph would say belonged to winter’s children.

It felt liked he’d been out here forever, walked for miles. How far could one little boy wander by himself. It was almost as though Joey had been following something, or been led away.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. Reluctantly he stopped to answer it, pulling off his glove so he could push the buttons.

“James, it’s Frank. It’s getting dark, we’re going to have to call it quits.”

“Just a few more minutes,” James begged. “We’ve come so far, he can’t be much further.”

There was a sigh. “Half an hour, then I’m sounding the horn.”

“Thank you, Frank,” James said,

“You’ve got your light, just in case?”

“Yes.”

“At least it stopped snowing, you’ll be able to follow your tracks back.”

“I’ll see you back at the house,” James said.

They both knew that, dark or not, he wouldn’t be going back without Joey.

James pocketed his phone again and caught sight of something moving in the trees.

“Joey?” he called, hopefully. “Is that you buddy?”

The movement seemed to be going away from him, rather than towards him, but some instinct had him following. As he neared the clearing where the pond lay, a nameless dread filled him. Could Joey have made it this far and found a soft spot in the ice?

Then he saw her. She stood a few feet away, tall and thin, unearthly beautiful. His breath caught in wonder. Impatiently she beckoned and he followed, spellbound. As they reached the edge of the pond she disappeared. James cried out, looking around wildly. Then all else was forgotten as the small, snow covered mound almost at his feet, began to move.

James set off the alert to the others as he dropped to his knees, gathering his son to him. In no time, they were surrounded by others from the hunting party. Those with guns pointed them in the air, letting off a volley to let the others back at the house know Joey had been found.

Joey squirmed in his father’s grasp, he couldn’t understand what all the fuss was about.

“Did you see her Dad?”

“See who?” James asked hoarsely.

“My friend. I think she was one of Winter’s children. She played with me and when I got tired she made me this bed and I felt nice and warm.”

James glanced down at the hollow Joey had been curled up in and saw that it was filled with pine boughs, insulating him from the bitter cold.

“She was, wasn’t she Dad? One of Winter’s children, just like grandpa said.”

“Yes, Joey, just like grandpa said,” James hugged his son closer to him, tears streaming down his face – tears of relief, tears for himself, and tears for the father he hadn’t believed in.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Missed an installment? Catch up here:
Introduction, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5,  Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11,  Part 12 Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17

The Lune

The Lune, also known as the American Haiku, was created by New York based poet Robert Kelly in the 1960s. Like the Haiku, it has only three lines, but instead of five syllables, seven syllables, and five syllables, totalling seventeen syllables, we have five syllables in the first line, three in the second, and five in the third, for a total of thirteen syllables.

The name comes from the crescent moon shape of the finished poem. Unlike the Haiku, there are no restrictions (other than the strict syllable count), you can write your Lune on whatever subject you wish.

There is a variation of the Lune known as the Collom Lune, created by poet Jack Collom. This is also three lines, but instead of syllables we’re counting words: three in the first line, five in the second, and once again three in the third line, for a total of eleven words.

I'll warn you, this is another form that's kind of addictive once you get started.


poor squeaking mousie
now a toy
for excited cats

I know he escaped
from the cats
which I think is worse

now he’s loose inside
and don’t know
where he’s hiding now

exterminator
will be called
when it is morning


Collom Lune

I like fall
except when it drives mice
inside my house.


Sunflowers still stand
straight in the crystal vase
taste of summer