Category Archives: writing

Getting by-lines with a little help from my friends

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I wrote a post a few days ago about submitting some of my writing to a local magazine in an attempt to get a chance to do some freelance writing.  Many of my blogs are written in the first person and I need to submit something that resembles more of an article including quotes.

This is where I ask for your help.  I would like to write a piece about blogging and was hoping to use some quotes from my blogging friends.  If you are so inclined, I would love to get some of your words about what blogging means to you so I can quote you in the article.  I will post the article here and link to your blogs once I have it finished.

Any help would be greatly appreciated!!

The Write Way – Trifextra Challenge

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  • Silence
  • Inspiration
  • Release

Written for the weekend Trifecta Challenge: One of our editors was recently lucky enough to slowly roast on a bouncy, mechanical floor thisclose to nearly 900 other Portlanders for a reading (of the third chapter of his new book, The Ocean at the End of the Lane) and subsequent Q&A by Neil Gaiman.  One of the questions asked of him was, “Can you tell us your writing process in three words?”  He replied, “Glare.  Drink tea.”

This weekend, we’re asking for you to sum up your own process with just three little words.  Give us dry wit, pathos or otherwise.  And remember, we like your blood on the page.  Put it there. – See more at: http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/#sthash.9taUYsHh.dpuf

This blog has been interrupted to bring you the following……

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Breaking news from a small town in Northern Ontario – After writing an entry for a magazine in May, I was thrilled with the reaction and kind words I received.  The fire in my brain had been lit and I was wanting to fuel that fire with more writing.  After several unanswered emails asking if I could write anything else for the magazine – ANYTHING – I received a random thank you today and a gift certificate for my admission to the magazine.

I, of course, responded with the appropriate gratitude and another plea for any space at all to write freelance articles for the magazine.  Much to my absolute delight, I was asked to submit some of my writing for their perusal.

fingers crossed

My blog post today has been put on hold as I frantically search for some of the blog posts I think may get their attention.  Wish me luck.  All fingers and toes crossed would be appreciated!!

Don’t be an echo

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Entering into the blogging community, I knew there would be a myriad of voices – voices that expounded opinions from many points of the spectrum of language, voices that wanted to speak and voices that yearned to be heard.

Each post that is put into the blogosphere has the ability to change the conversation and each writer’s voice is unique.  The joy of reading these blogs is that it opens the mind to different possibilities.  No one voice is the same, yet every string of words that is written has the ability to deeply influence its reader and affect their perception of those words.

Conformity in the writing world is blasphemy – challenging the parameters is a requirement.  If your writing sets you apart from others, whether it be your content or your writing style, your words are exclusive.  Many writers may tackle the same subject but each mind gives an unparalleled view and invites the reader into their perception of reality.

The writing Gods, or demons (depending on the hour of day that you are incessantly tapping at your keyboard), are relentless.  They wake you from unadulterated slumber, they seep into your dreams and they shadow you during your waking hours.  They infiltrate your thoughts and transport you into a world of possibility.  No two writers will ever have the same journey.

Telling a writer to change their style of writing is like telling a leopard to change its spots.  Those spots define that creature and the words on the page mark the individuality of the writer.  Speak up, writers.  Speak up and let your voice be heard.  Be your own voice and not an echo.   An echo is only an imitation and if you have things to say, say it your way.

(The Echo Amphitheatre in New Mexico- photo credit ~ vivanewmexico.com)

Love and Loss – Trifecta Challenge

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The markings were crude at best.  Pagan symbols written in blood on the wall were meant to portray a cult following but their vulgar simplicity meant only one thing, Victor was not taking his medication again.  She knew he had been acting strangely but she dismissed the possibility that his anger had escalated.  He was her only child and she would not see him incarcerated.  He would never survive containment.

She tugged at the rubber gloves until they snapped just above her wrists and her hand plunged into the tepid water to reach for the scrub brush.  She had lost count when it came to the number of times she had scoured these cellar walls.  The stench of decay was overwhelming and it permeated her nostrils.  Her senses adjusted once again and her muscles ached and objected to the physical labor.  The vast field beyond their home was filled with too many unmarked graves but she would never see Victor left as a mere number in a row of inmates.

Victor’s father had left only minutes ago with shovel in hand to turn over the newest patch of earth.  She could hear Victor’s sobbing in the distance.  She was sure the tears were a sign of remorse and that is the belief she would take to her grave.  If only she could see that her husband was not  just digging a single grave.

~

Written for the Trifectra Challenge – (perhaps I should have written this when I wasn’t thinking about the dark character in my book)

This week’s one-word prompt was suggested to us by Ritu from Things To Rave About in our Meet Your Fellow Trifectans meme.  If you’re not linked up there, you should be.  Click through and give us your details so we can get to know you a bit better.

CRUDE
1: existing in a natural state and unaltered by cooking or processing <crude oil>
2 archaic : unripe, immature
3: marked by the primitive, gross, or elemental or by uncultivated simplicity or vulgarity <a crude stereotype>
4: rough or inexpert in plan or execution <a crude shelter>
5: lacking a covering, glossing, or concealing element :obvious <crude facts>
6: tabulated without being broken down into classes <thecrude death rate>

Remember:
  • Your response must be between 33 and 333 words.
  • You must use the 3rd definition of the given word in your post.
  • The word itself needs to be included in your response.
  • You may not use a variation of the word; it needs to be exactly as stated above.
  • Only one entry per writer.
  • If your post doesn’t meet our requirements, please leave your link in the comments section, not in the linkz.
  • Trifecta is open to everyone. Please join us.

– See more at: http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/#sthash.PNRbwkef.dpuf

Oxy…who are you calling a moron?

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I think a lot of us are clearly confused by how an oxymoron is defined. Wikipedia defines an oxymoron as a figure of speech that combines contradicting terms.  Is that lone definitive term a false truth, and is it our one choice?  It’s seriously funny that we use so many of them on a fairly regular basis and have no idea of the genuine imitation of the English language that we are twisting to suit our purpose.

oxymoron

The larger half of us would not believe how many oxymoronic phrases can interject themselves into our daily lives.  We may be absolutely unsure of what the true meaning is, but we ignore the deafening silence and still go on based on that unbiased opinion.

It would be a pretty ugly reality to think that our life is based on a series of contradictory ideas.  We struggle enough just to make sense of reality without having to look for hidden meanings and misconstrued messages.  It is old news that life is a series of mysteries, and it is sweet sorrow when we realize that we are caught in the cycle of definite maybes.

We are alone together in a churning sea of absurdity.  We are lost in the moment when genuine imitation becomes a minor crisis and we have to delve further to free ourselves from a potential crash landing.  That moment of anticipated serendipity presents itself, and I will be among the first to admit my unease with the constructive ambiguity.

While we think we are doing nothing to circumvent the problem, there is an increasing decline in that belief.  Our systematic way of uncovering these terms comes to a rolling stop and we are forced to look at the original copies of our intended idea.

Don’t let the tragic comedy of the English language confuse you.  Be aware of those oxymorons and alleviate any organized chaos in your life.  There may be the most subtle exaggeration in the nuance of words but be cognizant of the silent alarm that will be an awfully good warning of the presence of the greater evil of these false truths.

This post may be going nowhere.  But while you search for the consistent uncertainties in my writing…..give me your extensive briefing and let me know how many oxymorons you think there were in this post.  I will wait through the quiet noise and give you my educated guess after I’ve had my Jumbo Shrimp and boneless ribs for dinner.  Good grief, this post may be a whole piece of true fiction.  Sorry if it was a little much!

A Broken Heart

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There are three things I know about a broken heart.  The first is it will heal.  The second is it will heal.  The third is it will heal.

~

Written for the weekend Trifextra challenge:  This weekend we are asking you to play around with the following quote:

Three things in human life are important. The first is to be kind. The second is to be kind. And the third is to be kind. –Henry James

We want you to follow the same general structure of the above quote.  Feel free to change the subject–tell us what’s important about coffee or houseplants or whatever you’d like.  Or else change up the modifier–instead of telling us what’s important, tell us what’s sexy or overrated or pernicious.  Your last three lines should closely echo James’s, giving us the same answer three times. – See more at: http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/#sthash.7JTIHbF7.dpuf

The countdown begins

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“Do not let the behavior of others destroy your inner peace.”

~ H.H. The Dalai Lama

It never ceases to amaze me.  Human behavior, whether good or bad, has enough energy to directly affect our own sense of self.  I am a calm person.  I have always had a great sense of peace about me and am quick to find the good in situations and in people.  But my faith in human nature takes a strong nose-dive when tourist season begins.

When you grow up in a small town or a small community, there is a true sense of peace knowing your neighbors and being familiar with those around you.  You learn to expect a certain level of camaraderie and happiness.  The members of the community embrace you and are quick with a smile and a genuinely warm hello.

With the arrival of the Canada Day long weekend, that seems to have changed.  No longer will you find the locals out shopping at all hours of the day and carrying on conversations as if nothing were more important.  Now those locals are hidden behind the doors of their homes, emerging only in the early hours of the day to do their shopping to avoid the onslaught of tourists.  The freedom of being able to enjoy our tiny town has vanished.

crowd

(image credit: theinertia.com)

I ventured out too late this morning and became caught in the vortex of that familiar angst and cynicism that seems to travel North on Highway 400 and vacation here during the months of July and August.  Everyone is in a rush to get everywhere and tempers are short.  I arrived at my familiar grocery store, exited my vehicle and my eardrums were pierced with two unfamiliar voices arguing about the angled parking  job of one of the overwhelmingly expensive vehicles in the parking lot.  I guess the memo about relaxing while on vacation was never sent!

We, as a community, have 10 short weeks to ‘make hay while the sun shines’, as the old saying goes.  For as much as these tourists treat us as an inferior breed of humans, they are a grand part of our existence.  So we grin and bear it….and we begin the countdown to Labor Day Monday.

Like animals emerging from hibernation, we allow ourselves to come out of our homes and once again greet the land and our surroundings after that glorious September long weekend.  We take deep breaths of fresh air and greet our friends with a smile, having survived another two months of insanity.  The local pub patios are packed with locals happily waving at the cars as they make their way back to their concrete jungle.  On rare occasions, streakers have been known to hit the streets with signs, wishing the tourists a safe ride home.  (well, it may have been worded differently, but you get the idea).

Until that day comes, I will do my best not to let the stress of these visitors infect my happy disposition.  66 days to go….but who’s counting??

I saw your car at the bar…

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I’m amazed and thrilled at how the times have changed.  Not so long ago there was a certain stigma attached to people who “had” to leave their car in the bar parking lot after a night of imbibing.  They were ridiculed by their friends for being so intoxicated that they had to leave their vehicle behind because they were too drunk to drive.

You could drive by the pub in the early hours of the morning and see people doing the “army crawl” across the lot, continually peering over their shoulder to see if they were being watched while they skulked across the pavement to retrieve their vehicle.

car in lot

Nowadays having the clear thought to leave your car behind is being worn like a badge of honor rather than a badge of shame. People that have the foresight to give up their keys and find an alternate way home should be seen as heroes.  If you have to say to yourself, “I’m fine”, you’re probably not fine enough to drive.

On the rare occasion that I go out for a  few drinks, I am one of those people who will put their keys aside and choose to be judged, if you will, for leaving my car in the parking lot and choosing to get a ride home.  Knowing that I choose to put other people’s safety ahead of my need to have my car in the driveway in the morning is a great feeling.  Even in a small town like the one I live in, choosing to do the right thing just feels right.  I may only encountered a deer or a wild turkey, or nothing at all, but I choose to not take the chance of something greater being in my path.

It takes just a split second to make that choice not to drive if you have been drinking. And it also takes a split second to be on the wrong side of the line and cost someone else time in the hospital or even worse.  Make the right decision – park your car for the night and get that safe ride home. I’d rather be the one the one they point the finger at to say “I saw your car at the bar” then to be the one that caused the accident that cost someone their life.

I feel my temperature rising

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Heat stealing my resolve,

lethargy setting in.

Too tired to write.

Blood reaching the boiling point.

Humidity envelops my skin,

melting the marks that make me who I am.

I exist in a puddle of sweat.

Fan only blows molecules of my existence through the air.

I feel like an egg on asphalt

bubbling on the surface and fried.

egg on pavement

(image credit: flickr.com)

Not enough energy to install A/C.

Mercury is no match for my inner thermometer.

Cold shower water pierces my skin like jagged knives.

Steam escapes.

A welcome release.