Wishful Thinking

Yesterday I had a conversation with a dear friend. We reconnected after a season and were catching up on one anothers' lives, the physical and the figurative, all matters of the heart and head. Later, I took a walk and thought about all the strange places that life takes us. Sometimes, I wish I had a crystal ball or the gift of a visit from my future self with some words of encouragement to guide me along the way. Could one part of me do that for the other? Alleviate my fears and give some reassurance that in the end, everything would still be okay? It was all wishful thinking on my part and then I happened to read my horoscope the next day. It read:

"I hold in my hand a postcard from the future. It is addressed to you. It says, "Hi, just wanted to let you know that I am having a lovely time here and things are looking surprisingly good. That issue, you know that one I was so bothered about...well it sorted itself out quite nicely in the end. All the best.

P.S. The weather is lovely, wish you were here.

Oh look! At the bottom of the card there is a signature. How interesting. That is your name! So there, you see? You really don't need to worry. Just proceed with confidence."

Thought for you...On your toughest days, what do you wish for?

One Fine Film...THE SWELL SEASON

ONCE, there was a boy and a girl, and a song.

THE SWELL SEASON is their story

ever after success and expectation.

Check out The Swell Season, now available on Amazon. 

When a Picture is Worthy of One Word...LOVE.

Monday Hearts For Madalene is a love story that has traveled the globe, one heart at a time. Skillfully crafted by Page Hodel, every Monday heart is now shared with the world in a gift of giving.

To learn more about Monday Hearts For Madalene and to receive your Monday Heart, visit HERE.

Goodbye April! See ya next year for National Poetry Month at Calendar Gal.

STEAL, STEAL, STEAL...

Because Austin says it's OK.

Austin Kleon, acclaimed author of "NEWSPAPER BLACKOUT" is back with another book entitled, "STEAL LIKE AN ARTIST". Already a New York Times beststeller, "STEAL LIKE AN ARTIST - 10 Things Nobody Told You About Being Creative" has got writers and creators alike talking, and stealing (which is a good thing!)

Watch Austin Kleon at TEDxKC discuss HOW TO STEAL LIKE AN ARTIST.

To learn more about Austin Kleon, visit HERE.

Hello April - It's National Poetry Month! Over the next few weeks I'll be sharing all things poetic here at Calendar Gal.

It's Good To Have Friends!!

Some writers are notorious for wanting to be left alone, to work on their craft. And when I say some, I mean me. They would rather be hidden away in a corner workspace to type at their computers or simply sit in a bit of quiet sunlight with some paper and pen. (Still me.) But thank heaven for friends who push them (again, me) out of their comfort zones.

A few years ago, I had the good fortune to work with my friend, Tamara and her award winning group, Musical Chairs Chamber Ensemble (MCCE). They now bask in the glow of their second National Endowment of the Arts Award which I am so very happy for them but at one time, it was I who had the extraordinary luck when they shared their stage with me.

First off, I must say that Tamara has a way with words. The project she proposed was entitled, Precious Metals, a collaboration of Russian Music and Poetry. Tamara had roped me in with the idea of immersing myself in Russian poetry. At the time, I knew very little about Russia's great poets. I knew I would have to dig deep into Russia's history to find my narrative thread. Initially, I was not afraid of the research or even the two month deadline, but when she explained that it all would culminate in a musical performance by MCCE featuring my narrative and poetry readings with members of the attending audience, well, to say that I was terrified by it all would have been fairly and utterly accurate. Ahh, thank heaven for friends who push us to leap. 

I could never have attempted such an experience without my friend, Tamara. Her confidence in me opened up my writing to something much greater than the four walls of my writing space and the experience stays with me still. It remains, always that friendly reminder to nudge me out of my pesky comfort zones and square writing rooms.

So today's poem (and star) comes to you as a gift, from Russia with love, and much thanks to Tam.

Now Listen!

Now Listen!
If the stars shine,
doesn’t it mean that somebody needs them?
Doesn’t it mean that somebody wants them?
Doesn’t it mean that someone calls these little gobbets
Pearls?
And bursting up
through the blizzards of southern dust,
Burst in to see God,
Afraid that he’s late,
weeps,
kisses His sinewed hands
begs Him
most urgently for a star,
beats his brow,
unable to stand this starless torture,
then goes on his way,
a little anxious
but perfectly calm outwardly.
He goes and asks whomever he did it for:
“Is that okay now?
You don’t feel too bad now…?
Do you?”

Now listen!

If stars
shine
it means somebody needs them.
It means you’ve gotta have
every evening
shining above the rooftops
at least one star – haven’t you?

(1926)

Translated by Bernard Meares

Vladimir Vladimirovich Mayakovsky (1893-1930)

Hello April - It's National Poetry Month! Over the next few weeks I'll be sharing all things poetic here at Calendar Gal.

Sima Speak - Two Windows

PHOTO CREDIT: Kelly Eddington

TWO WINDOWS

Have you ever rediscovered yourself, surprised at the thought that you could ever forget? It happened one day to her, with the quiet opening of a window. Suddenly, she was a little girl again, peeking out on a cool, winter morning.

While her breath connected with the world's, her fingertips played with a shelf of snow. The memory was so sudden, so abrupt that she held her breath. It was not just her youth she tried to savor but life. The morning sat sleepy, almost motionless, but in her hands it felt vast, alive.

So real was the memory that she licked her fingertips to taste once more the wet snow. When her eyes tried to focus out again, they fell not on winter, but an open window to SPRING. The grass was green, the flowers were blooming, the air was warm and fresh. The morning sun brought no birds, just a gentle hum of cars from a far off road.

How very strange to think that a spring day should align with a winter memory, that lush green could be a portal to winter white? How beautiful is the mind where everything stands connected, two seasons, two windows, two pieces of the self, lost and found again.

By Nancy Sima

Hello April - It's National Poetry Month! Over the next few weeks I'll be sharing all things poetic here at Calendar Gal.

Poetry In Motion - Trixie Whitley

Amp up your "I am woman, hear me roar" mantra with this gorgeous video! Whitley is a delicate powerhouse ...oh yeah, and keep your eyes on that dress for an extra bit of poetry in motion.

A Thousand Thieves by Trixie Whitley

HAPPY MONDAY TO YA!

April is National Poetry Month

April is Poetry Month so let's get the show rolling with some poetry by Mumford & Sons....music to my ears.

THE CAVE

It's empty in the valley of your heart
The sun, it rises slowly as you walk
Away from all the fears
And all the faults you've left behind

The harvest left no food for you to eat
You cannibal, you meat-eater, you see
But I have seen the same
I know the shame in your defeat

But I will hold on hope
And I won't let you choke
On the noose around your neck

And I'll find strength in pain
And I will change my ways
I'll know my name as it's called again

Cause I have other things to fill my time
You take what is yours and I'll take mine
Now let me at the truth
Which will refresh my broken mind

So tie me to a post and block my ears
I can see widows and orphans through my tears
I know my call despite my faults
And despite my growing fears

But I will hold on hope
And I won't let you choke
On the noose around your neck

And I'll find strength in pain
And I will change my ways
I'll know my name as it's called again

So come out of your cave walking on your hands
And see the world hanging upside down
You can understand dependence
When you know the maker's land
So make your siren's call
And sing all you want
I will not hear what you have to say

Cause I need freedom now
And I need to know how
To live my life as it's meant to be

And I will hold on hope
And I won't let you choke
On the noose around your neck

And I'll find strength in pain
And I will change my ways
I'll know my name as it's called again

By Mumford & Sons

Hello April - It's National Poetry Month! Over the next few weeks I'll be sharing all things poetic here at Calendar Gal.

I Just Had To Share - The Snow Child

 

A new novel has charmed my heart and writing sensibilities, and I am not alone. Click here to read what others are saying about the stunning debut of "The Snow Child" by Eowyn Ivey.

Also, the newspaper review that caught my eye. REVIEW.

What are your reading?

A Little Birdie Told Me...

I like to think, alot.  

As a writer, it has always served me well for developing my characters, but I have to be careful that my pension for thinking doesn't spill over into my character's head.

The error is easy to spot when monologues abound, but solving them has been a difficult challenge. My inner wordsmith and I go head to head, fighting over the necessity of such thoughts and their oh-so-many words. To combat this writing hiccup of mine, I now have a yellow sticky note that sits on the top of my computer. It reads...

IF IT'S WORTH SAVING, IT'S WORTH SAYING.

Consider it a new writing checkpoint that allows me to scrutinize my sentences and the direction they (and my novel)are going to take. The discovery is two fold.

1) IF IT'S WORTH SAVING... allows me to assess need. Does the reader need to know a set of details - a recollection, a memory, a thought, an impression - in the context of the story NOW? If the answer is YES, it stays. If NO, then the section gets cut and pasted to a TAKEOUT FILE for safekeeping. (Not having to hit the delete button makes my inner writer happy.)

2) IT'S WORTH SAYING...allows me to keep the focus on dialogue. I may hold character thoughts dear but the danger in a conversation of one is the halt in storyline; the action quickly runs flat or worse, off track. To remedy this, I go back to my question of need but with a twist. If the need is there for the reader, then I ask, "who needs to say these words?" I then do a bit of improv, letting different characters try the words on for size. Hearing them said in different voices and viewpoints helps me to see their worth - can they stand as dialogue and who, in the end, can serve them best? The beauty of this process is that paragraphs of thought quickly get trimmed down to a few key sentences. When the right mix of character and words are found, the transformation is immediately felt on the page. 

There will still be some words that do not bend to dialogue or other characters, that fight to remain a character's thoughts alone. That is okay because thoughts are more than just words -that is their worth. Challenge yourself to work with these inner voices and I am sure you will find a way to make them sing.

Do your characters like to get lost in their own heads?  How do you  keep the action still moving on the page?

What Muses Never Tell...

Much can be said about the suffering artist, but what about his muse?

Lady With Seven Stars, By Michelle Wiebe

MUSE RUSE

My muse, Penelope is a fickle sort,
she runs hot and cold when it comes to words.
When I sit down to write, Penelope knows how to disappear.
Writing is difficult this way. The room is too still,
the space small, the air dry, nothing breathes.
"Come outside," she whispers.
"It's raining."
"Yes, lucky you."

Penelope loves the rain. There is something about it
that makes her positively giddy. I go out with low expectations,
but once again, she surprises me.
As the rush of rain hits, it devours me
and leaves me speechless.
Penelope is pleased, she stretches her arms out to the sky and sings.
"Why are you so happy?" I ask.
But Penelope doesn't answer, she just shakes her head.
Sometimes, I wonder what Penelope was
before she met me. In a former life, I imagine her
as a blithe fish, or a pink swan, maybe even a mermaid
or a nightingale, but I never go there with her,
it is just another thing Penelope would never say.

One night I dreamed that Penelope revealed her truth to me.
She held my hand and pointed up to the night sky.
"There, you can always find me there."
I look up at a storm that rages overhead,
it is vicious as it is wide, but at it's core where Penelope points,
hovers a quiet space, it rests among the rapture like a tiny oasis.
It is one part ardent, two parts beautiful.

"Where are you now?"
Penelope feigns a smile. "I'm here, though somedays,
the feeling of a storm is just as real."
I look at Penelope but she doesn't look back.
"Am I the storm, Penelope?"
"No, it's just words," she says, "all these precious words."
When Penelope looks my way, her eyes are wet and sad.
She tries to smile, to laugh it off saying, "Wouldn't it be better to just hide away
amid the tiny, white spaces in between?"
Before I can answer, Penelope is swept away, gone.
I look up only to see the storm's eye glow back at me.

The next morning, the dream sits on the tip of my tongue.
I try to remember it, to write it down but my words feel inadequate.
No matter how much I write, I can't seem to describe the memory of
Penelope or the feeling she left behind.
It isn't until I am ready to give up, that a shifts occurs and I come to understand it,
the moment and all that Penelope never could say.
Sometimes, there just aren't any words left to give.

By Nancy Sima

Do you believe in muses? What do you think your muse would never admit to or say?

An Offer Of A Thousand Pardons and Tea



Photo Credit: Free Tea Party

You may wonder why it has been so long since I have last written.   

I can easily blame the holiday break. All it takes is one day off, or in my case, the whole month of December for my writing time to fall away. In the interval, I have indulged my fascination of all things English - books, film and yes, tea. It has idled away many hours and done nothing more to my writing than to affect the tone of this post...a thousand pardons.

The choice was entirely mine although now, I recognize how foolish I was to think I could escape my necessity for words. Writing may at times be difficult, but NOT WRITING so easily morphs into something much worse. A reminder that teeters about, always on the brink of one's attention. Such cruelty I know you alone would understand. We have commiserated well enough on the topic before so as not to feel lost in our thoughts and to rally one another foward. While I have always delighted in your company in this regard, I ask that we share no such words today.  

Talk breeds trouble for writers such as ourselves. When writers get to be talkers, our words fall into a hollow, doing little more than bounce about as echoes, speaking to no one.

"Writers must write what they wish to say, not speak" as our dear friend, Mr. Ernest Hemingway once said and so I write to you now to acknowledge our time apart these last few weeks and to bid my idle hours adieu. I return to writing where I am certain you will agree, my thoughts and words will find better uses there. 

Till then, I remain sincerely yours,

Calendar Gal

From My Desk To Yours...

I'm A Lucky Gal...

For Your Words of Encouragement and Writerly Advice

- THANKS -

You've All Been Swell!!

Stuck In Time

I've been feeling stuck lately. Writer's block? That would be the easy, go to answer if not for some compelling thoughts I've read by Martha Alderson aka The Plot Whisperer on the subject.

"If you find yourself plagued with writer's block, chances are you suffer a deeper malady - procrastination. If you find yourself putting off even starting to write, chances are your malady runs deeper still - perfectionism."

Her words linger as I continue to chart the structure of my novel. The process has brought up a lot of questions, for my characters, as well as for me. In taking time to answer them, I've been thinking about time, namely, how much time I spend writing?

I've never been one to sit and write for hours on end. A euphoric session that lasts a few hours will inevitably be lambasted by sessions of nothingness to boot. But in between these two extremes, I've found a comfort zone of about 1 1/2 hours. It's something to work with but to date, I have not produced a readable manuscript, something that I am willing to hand over and so I ask myself why?

My writing time has been a comfortable space, but has it been too comfortable that I haven't asked anything more from it?  Looking back over the years, I've accrued plenty of words but words alone are not enough to render a story complete. What is the difference that some writers can churn out a tale in one, two or three years time while another writer requires ten?

The bones of my story are currently posted on my wall. I imagine the work that follows to be an easy game of connect the dots until I spy something more glaring looking back at me. For all my hours of writing, my story still stands incomplete. In some cases, I have not written my story as much as I have written around the details of it. I can follow the lines till suddenly, the energy falters. Something stops me and I find myself willing to only circle the outer edges of some chapters. Is there such a thing as procrastination-in-motion, the equivalent to spinning one's wheels?

As I said, writer's block would bave been the easy, go to answer if not for the obvious tracks I leave behind. I know some circles aren't worth repeating but now, it seems even time begs for something more. 

Laurence Durrell said, "It takes a lot of energy and a lot of neurosis to write a novel. If you were really sensible,you'd do something else." Are you feeling sensible today?

Sing Me A Song David Gray

Some of my favorite storytellers are singer-songwriters though from a writer standpoint, I find theirs to be a more envious talent. They weave miniature tales, beautifully sparse and exact in feeling to the point that the work appears effortless. That they can sing as well, is really just another hit to the ribs.   

Still, there's something about a song that keeps me coming back. It always gives me more than a tune in my ears. It travels onward, reaching a place deep inside of me. Who can understand or explain it? Surely they must have felt the same thing in writing it, no? Then the shock of words when they admit another familiar tune. "I struggled to write this one...it didn't come together for a long time."  

Maybe we're not so different after all?

Are you inspired by music? Tell me, what song/artist/group unwinds something in you to write?

Hello, My Name Is...

Writers are an interesting bunch. Some of us will never admit to the title of "writer". Perhaps the fear that one day someone will call us out on it feels too great? Still others adopt a host of other tags to define themselves and all that they do on the page.  You know what I'm talking about.

Plotter, panster, left brainer, right brainer, tell me, what does your badge say? To be fair, my blogger occupation is currently listed as wordsmith.

We all hold up signs looking to connect with other like minds. There's a comfort in meeting people who think as we do, but wouldn't we do better to step outside of our boxes?

One can always make the argument that you learn as you go, but at some point you have to concede that your way is not always the best way. That was my thinking recently when I hit yet another snag with my revisions.

For all my pride of being a pantser, a right brain extraordinaire, I had to admit that I was feeling lost, disconnected from my protagonist. I was feeling the need for some structure that only thinking like a plotter could bring. It's not that I was incapable of such mapping detail, just that such a process was never mine or ever needed for me to write...until now.

Putting aside my manuscript, I started delving into some plot and structure books. Reading was my new comfort zone. Thankfully, it didn't take long before I hit gold with Martha Alderson's, "The Plot Whisperer" - a big thank you to Debbie for sharing Martha's You Tube Series! 

Martha knows writers. She speaks the lingo and knows all the excuses, hangups and reasons for which side of the brain fence we roam. She recognizes the divide but also takes some time to explain what we stand to lose when we write with only half a brain. Martha encourages writers to explore both sides of their mind, the analytical, detail oriented, language driven left as well as the intuitive, big picture, character and emotion driven right. It might not be easy for all but she makes a compelling argument that "balance serves a story well".

So now I am working on this dual system of writing and plotting my story. I've surrounded myself with plot planners, bubble diagrams and scene trackers. I've asked questions about dramatic action and considered my character's emotional development. All in all, I am moving forward once again and it feels good. The best part, my mind is full of ideas.

Plotter or Pantser? Yes and yes, but WRITER suits me best.


Have you bridged the gap between plotter and panster? What's the biggest writing challenge you've had to face?

Nanowrimos - This One Is For You

Photo Credit: Joseph Hancock

NOVEMBER DIVE

Some say the act of putting down words
is a leap of faith, a sacred deed
where you try to meet your maker on the page.
Whether you believe it or not,
it still must feel good
to just let the words fall,
from your head, your heart,
creating pools on the page,
deep enough for you to feel
what it means to get wet.

By Nancy Sima

Happy Writing Nanos! How is your Nanwrimo experience so far?

Another thought on Beginnings - The RAVEN

The Raven

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 visiter," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door--
Only this and nothing more."

Excerpt - The Raven by E.A. Poe




I love sharing poetry and "The Raven" by Edgar Allan Poe is a classic must read. The first few stanzas are a great study in beginnings. They offer such a beguiling and eerie lure - perfect for Halloween!

I was happy to rediscover this poem when a friend's son (thank you Jacob!) offered Poe's essay, "The Philosophy of Composition" to me as I bemoaned the difficulty of beginnings. Today I am happy to share them both with you. 

To read the complete poem, see HERE.

To read Poe break it down himself, see his essay "The Philosophy of Composition".

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

Comic Relief for Writers

This MUTTS comic strip sits at the bottom of my computer. When the outside world feels heavy and gray it serves as a reminder for me to just keep writing.

What do you surround yourself with to stay inspired through the daily grind?