Reaching for the Redwoods

Once upon a time I began to live among Giants, ancient, long lived beings of another race entirely.

And then I began to photograph them and bring my friends and family to visit them and to rest in their shadow.

Many times I climbed upon their fallen and mourned a loss or stood astonished to discover a new life bursting forth from a fallen corpse.

My children and grandchildren became so accustomed to their size that only giants appeared nirmL in their eyes.  I still seek out their companionship when I grow weary and need peace. For awhile now I have not been writing much, but I'm back at it and sensing the completion of a picture book about redwoods happening in time for Christmas gifts.  

NaNoWriMo by Day 24

 My writing was zipping right along, a bit behind schedule but highly motivated until three days ago, when my dog and I both got sick with the stomach bug that was sending my students home in droves four days before that. Then while I was sick, it got cold and while I know that cold here, isn't what a lot of the country calls cold

 I also know my house here has like zero insulation so when the outside hits freezing, the inside hits 43* even with a fire in my wood stove.  So I was too sick to lift the logs we feed the fire with, and huddled under a mountain of blankets instead. Every time I had to run for the toilet the air in the house felt like I had plunged into an icy river.  Yeah, maybe I had a fever too

 But when I awoke on Saturday, feeling like food was on the agenda
there came a brisk wind that took the temperature from freezing to 80*

 and then everything went still and the grey whale migration came in close to land, so I didn't write the either.

 Instead my husband and I watched whales and chatted with tourists and then went to see "Catching Fire" and out for Chinese food.  Ok the food was a mistake, so I just smiled at the plate for awhile then had it boxed up and had soup instead - but it felt so good to feel good to be alive again.

 and today I am back at the keyboard, better writing than I could have done without the break anyway.

 These are two large rocks but the whales were hanging right beside them, spouting and showing a flipper or tail every now and then

So what have I been writing?

more about two boys 1901 years apart but both in areas with impending volcanic eruptions

here is a brief sample, unedited

"Marcus guided the Fortunatus family out of the boat at Naples. He was grateful to step onto an unmoving surface with the farmer and his wife and children. The farmer and his wife had both been seasick, or simply sick with terror but the children seemed to love the adventure of the nighttime boat crossing. And it had been more adventure than Marcus ever hoped to endure again. The Bay heaved and seemed to try to pushed them away from shore. The Air was clogged with dust and ash and smoke so that even in the dawn it was dark. Back toward vesuvius there was lightning and flames and both white smoke and black ashes blocking everything and roiling through the earth.

Once they were clear of the crowds he sought out directions to the artists home and hoped his Father was still waiting there. Then he gestured to the family to come with him. The older man hesitated again, clearly uncomfortable going uninvited to a stranger's home, but glancing at his children and the crowds of refugees convinced him to set his pride aside. The streets were covered with ash like snow.

It wasn't possible to move quickly through the crowded streets with the children and the few possessions that were meager enough and yet still weighed them down.

The crowds were in disarray, everyone was speaking, shouting questions, and not just in Latin but in Greek and other languages as well. Where people could, they searched the incoming refugees for familiar faces, and sometimes there were shout of joy at a successful reunion, and that gave everyone a more hopeful feeling. Still, many people milled about with no idea where to go now, or any hope left on their faces. The disaster had brought out both the best and worst in people, so some of the locals had come down to the harbor bearing extra blankets and clothing and food. Some had come trying to make a quick profit off of necessities they themselves had paid almost nothing for. There were fishermen and boat owners preparing to go for more survivors and there were thieves stealing from the overburdened and vulnerable crowd, knowing those burdens contained all the earthly treasures those refugees carried.

There were people spreading stories that they had no way of knowing if they were true or not, but the audiences they found believed them. If reality was this bad, of course it was probably even worse. At times the air would almost clear, the daylight could come through, and that seemed even more wrong somehow. The ashes falling and the smokey air seemed to tell the truth that the familiar mountain was now and forever unfamiliar and threatening.

Farmer Fortunatus, without a farm now, and still too close to the loss, to realize how fortunate the Fortunatus family had been, kept turning to look toward his family home, pointing up in the air, beyond the new crest of the mountain, to where he had been so comfortable in his old home and terraced fields. It had to still be there, because it always had been.

Finally Marcus and the family were pushing through the door, greeting Veruses master and then Marcus was grabbed into a strong hug as his father pulled him close and they wept on each other's shoulders.

“Oy! Marcus, so glad you are safe, my boy. Your Brother?”

“No problem, Father. The boat was full and I had promised to help this family, but Verus and Aemiliana were safe. They were there at the beach with us, and while he insisted I come ahead, they were waiting for the next boat. They will probably have smoother tides and better winds than we did. And they are together. I imagine they are right behind us, maybe already at the dock.”

“I went down to the ocean when people began talking about the strange cloud, I wanted to find Verus but I had told him to go and I did not know where he had gone exactly, only why. He was going for medicine, he must have heard of the eruption and caught one of the boats as soon as it happened, but I wish that he had come back for me. He probably thought I'd be too old to help. No, I'm sure he only thought of getting to the girl.” Father began to tell his story, much relieved to know that his family was safe."

When the Muse Can't Be Called By Words

Every November since I discovered the wonderfully freeing and inspiring group of people participating  in NaNoWriMo, I have jumped in at the beginning of November with the plan to write a sloppy first draft and polish it up later when I could slow down and realize that I did have a Novel in my hands, I just needed to clean-it up and make it decent to go in public.

This November is approaching again and I have found a group of other WriMo fans who are still working on last years novel while planning for this one. It has been fun and yet I have bogged down as the end of the writing on this on nears.

That is OK.

I have found my way through the bog before and I have faith that I will again.

For me, when the creativity slows down and the inspiration won't come, then I know it produces stale, forced writing, so I have to entice the muse back.

That means getting creative in other mediums, dancing, playing with sculpting fimo, hiking new trails, singing and drawing.  To get focused back on the story I paint possible book cover and play with them on Ribbet and picmonkey photo editing sites

after the first "win" onNaNoWriMo when I finished the novel in 30 days, I won a free proof copy of the book from createspace. I had it figured out how to upload it, but I wasn't thinking of a cover, so I just took a picture of one I doodled and got that proof to give to my mom.

It was going to end there.

I swear it was

 but of course we all know better now.  Seeing that "Real book" even if there was only one existing in the world.  That was an instant blast of feel good endorphins and I had to keep going. So then I read the proof and edited more and designed a cover I thought Duffy himself might have painted. Then I began writing the Sequel, "Seek Well" the next NaNoWriMo. Painting that cover came easier because I wanted them unified in appearance.

So today, even though the third book still is a few chapters short of a conclusion. When the words were stuck, I decided to design the cover anyway

I painted

Trying to keep the dome shape to the upper right

the people to the lower right

the heavy use of blue

and the back with a clue of how the transport to Uhrlin happens this time

Then, I photographed the painting and edited in the titles and other wordy stuff

and I tried to think of how to present the information that this series was now an "award-winning  Tween series"

So I think I might go with this book cover for the Third book for people who already have book one and two.

As I mentioned in my last post, I'm also thinking about putting out a combined volume with all three books included, and a different style cover, for those who want the paperback version but haven't yet invested in the first two.

 Anyway, the exercise works. I figured out the next step that the characters want to take, and they are chomping at the bit, for me to pick up my pad and pen and start following them around taking notes again.

Until next time, Happy Autumn to you, and may all your days have a creative spark.

Goode Books Free Kindle Days are Over, Results Here

Free Ebooks for Kindle from Me with update on progress

I decided to update what has been happening with this experiment with a few details. 

After 24 hours free on the Amazon site

Duffy Barkley  was uploaded 2 times in the UK and 55 in the USA                           Oregon Trail had  2 in Canada and 4 in Uk and 89 in US

after 48 hours

Duffy had 135 in US and 5 in Uk and 3 in Germany plus 1 in Japan and 3 in Canada                Oregon Trail had 210 in USA and 5 in UK with 1 in Germany plus 1 in Japan and 2 in Canada

but then something happened

I don't know what,

 but I suspect a better read blog

or a kindle freebie facebook page

talked about The Double Time on the Oregon Trail Book

so

after 36 hours the Oregon Trail book took off

Duffy Barkley is Not a Dog still did OK. It showed up with 158 in USA and 6 in UK and 3 in Germany, 1 in France, 2 in Japan and 5 in Canada 

    

Double Time On The Oregon Trail uploaded  a surprising (to me)  565 in USA and 7 in UK, 1 in Germany, 2 in Japan and 5 in Canada

And after the end of the 5 days, I had the fun of realizing that in 5 days exactly 1000 copies of my kindle books, or my paperbacks had been ordered and would be getting out into the world to serve as eager ambassadors to tell my stories and maybe encourage a few more people to try kindness and tolerance instead of anger as a first response to those who seem to be different.

And during that fun, even though it gets me no $$$, event I learned that an action from months ago had payed off

I had given a copy of the Oregon Trail novel to a fifth grade teacher

after his wife told me that he teaches a unit on the Oregon Trail.

That was not long before he told me that he had passed it on to the director of the County's Unified School District Curriculum

now, 4 months later

I found out that the district has approved and ordered 38 copies of my novel

to teach as a class set, and to base in the district IMC

and Someone in the UK has bought the Sequel to Duffy Barkley is Not a Dog, now as well

So, Ok

I only get a couple bucks a copy there too, but 

I'm an internationally read author :)

with a book being used as a textbook in a California School District.

It doesn't pay the rent but it keeps me smiling.

Older post below tell you more about the books

Here We Go NaNoWriMoing

 November is very quickly coming on, and with it, one of my favorite activities in the world, because after all, November is Novel Writing Month and NaNoWriMo has helped make my daydreams and doodles turn into books and a bit of spare cash.

My first "Proof" copy

 The first time I heard of the idea of writing a quick and dirty rough draft in a month. I thought pledging myself to writ 50,000 words in November sounded just like what I needed.  After all, I had been telling people i wanted to write, and taking writing classes for 30 years.  But I had only filled a few notebooks with poems and short stories and sent a few out but stopped when the rejection letters came.  Now I know, DUH!  Of course they come.  They are good things.  Only writers get rejection letters from editors, so while I was getting them, I was being a writer.

The "real book"

first painting

 So I wrote the 50,000 words and realized that it was a lot of work, but it wasn't close to a finished book, and it took me a year to write the next 38,000 words and more time to edit and doodle and make covers that looked like my main character could have drawn them.

painting for 2nd book

 But createspace had offered to make a free copy of a proof of the finished book if we finished NaNoWriMo, so I was motivated to do this just to have one copy of my book in my hand.  I finally hit "publish" at createspace and my book came here, and obviously needed edited a lot, and a new cover but I was hooked.  I made the corrections and did the work and soon had a box of books to sell to people at schools and fairs and links on Amazon and other bookstores.

Book 3 went in a time travel journey to the Oregon Trail

 And now, years later I still love the rush of writing without worrying about cleaning it up as I go, and the social support of 300,000 other dreaming writers around the world.  I don't always manage a book, and sometimes I do CampNaNoWriMo in the summer instead.  I have managed three books this way, and by going to schools and to writer's Conferences and using social Networking sites I have managed to have fun and sell enough copies, in paperback and kindle, that I can really say, "I am a writer" and no, you may not have heard of my books, but that's ok - some kids have and I have.

and in the end, there are a lot of books out there, but only I can tell my stories.  I think everyone has a story they should tell, one that is only theirs.  If you are ready.  Check out NaNoWriMo at http://www.nanowrimo.org

and my books at http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B004458ES2

Press Release: Every Child is Entitled to Innocence

The following post was not written by me, but is reposted because the message is important and the book and stories are highly recommended by me

Special Post / Press Release:

      Every Child is Entitled to Innocence

Press Release

Every Child is Entitled to Innocence will be the first publication of the newly- formed Orangeberry Publishing Group. Due to release on February 14th, profits from the sales of this e-book will be donated to Child Helpline International.

Says initiator of the project, Dr. Niamh Clune, “I met many writers through the Internet that experienced difficult childhoods yet have overcome their brutal beginnings. I wanted to make the first Orangeberry publication a celebration of creative imagination. This powerful friend of damaged children plays an essential role in an abused child’s recovery. Gathering this series of stories was a joy. Orangeberry Books has developed special, vibrant relationships with contributors and has forged many lasting friendships.

We encouraged happy stories that reflected the innocence of childhood when infants feel wrapped in the warmth of loving arms. We wanted to contrast these with the sad ones, making them stand out in relief against a bright backdrop. We felt this comparison would demonstrate, without explanation, what happens when innocence is stolen.

In this book, the reader will find many wonderful, heart-warming stories; whilst the sad ones demonstrate the magnificence of the human spirit as it triumphs against all the odds.”

Executive Editor, Karen S. Elliott stated, “While I looked at all the stories in the Every Child anthology, I edited only a few. I thought it was important, for this tome, that the writers be able to express the heartbreak and joy of childhoods past without censorship.”

Spokesperson for Orangeberry Books, Niamh Clune, explained how The Orangeberry Group is at the vanguard of a new wave of Internet publishing companies. Orangeberry aims to put quality first and bring exciting, exceptionally talented authors to the reader’s attention. Its focus is not on commercialism, but on quality, beautifully written, well-told stories. Orangeberry will also publish poetry. A further aim of the publishing company is to bring a collection of exceptional artists from across many different art disciplines to collaborate on projects in a personal, hands-on, mutually supportive manner.

The motto of the company is, ‘Paying it Forward.’ The company relies on a well-developed social network, the dedication of the core team members, their talent and enthusiasm coupled with a socially entrepreneurial spirit. Supporters and members of this group will also benefit from on-line mentoring, a book-club, the Youth Tube Channel, and the OBBlog.

For further information visit: 

www.orangeberrybooks.com and/or www.theobblog.com 

Join the FB group: 

http://www.facebook.com/groups/orangeberrygroup/ 

@CHIamsterdam http://www.childhelplineinternational.org

Bogging Down in My Writing about Oregon Trail.

Trick or Treat Blog Adventure to be Posting  on Halloween with giveaway and links to Author Blogs

Logo Design by Tammie Gibbs

On August 3 I gave you the prologue to my Oregon Trail, work in progress, and on Sept. 12 I shared the first chapter.  I guess I am ready to revisit that trail again, and try to figure out why something that was flowing smoothly has become bogged down.

 I keep avoiding opening the document, finding that blogging, or facebook, or planning an entirely new novel have a lot more appeal at the moment.  I suspect that it was so easy to write at first, and I have the whole thing outlined and finished in my head, and somehow that has translated as "finished" in my motivation too.  Why was it easier to write two Duffy Barkley novels, when the actual writing was harder, than to force myself to finish Della and Kenyon's story?

I find myself re-reading what I have, with pleasure, but when I get to the final chapters, where all I have is a paragraph, planning where the chapter will go, I suddenly find that even sitting down to write out bills has more appeal.

Chapter 2  Kenyon (From 1990s) 

  “Dear Diary,

     Dad is trying to get me to smile like he can just trick me out of a “bad mood.”  Why can’t he see that this isn’t just a mood – it is my life ruined forever!  My Whole Life!  Just now he slowed way down and leaned forward like he was trying to crawl up on the dashboard and I yelled at him, “What are you doing?  Keep you eyes on the road!”  but he was staring up in the sky like he didn’t care if we ended up dead in a ditch.  I should want to end up dead but that convinced me.  I’m not ready to die yet. But I am ready to drive!

     “Girls – Look!  It’s a bald eagle!”  He looked back with this hopeful smile on his lips like some dumb bird could make me forget that my friends were getting farther behind us at every mile.

     Melissa started to twist around to see but I pulled her back down and snapped at Dad, “The only Eagles I care about are in Philadelphia – and that is only if Pittsburgh isn’t playing.  Stay on your side of the road!”

       He looked sad, and angry – I thought maybe I’d gone too far and held my breath but he shut-up and started driving again.  Doesn’t he get that my whole life can go by and I won’t forgive this?  There is no justice in the world when you’re 15.”

     Kenyon snapped her book closed and clipped the pen to the front cover.  Her mind drifted back to the late night Deli where her Grandfather had given her the desk.  They had just come from a Pirate Game and it had been a long standing habit to go to the small, corner deli after a game.

     Kenyon had felt bittersweet.  Happy that her beloved Pirates had won but anxious because she didn’t know if she would ever sit in their stadium beside her Grandpa again.  She bit into her sandwich.  Nothing had as much flavor as a hot pastrami, on rye, with mustard, onions, and sauerkraut.  Did they have sandwich shops in Oregon?  She swallowed the suddenly flavorless mouthful and blinked against the burning in her eyes.

     Grandpa reached out gently, and dabbed a bit of mustard from the corner of her lips with a rough, paper napkin.  “Penny for your thoughts?”  Kenyon shook her head abruptly and forced a small smile.

     Grandpa picked up his own hoagie and made exaggerated signs of enjoyment as he chewed, rubbing his tummy and smacking his lips, eyes rolling and tongue flicking out to lick his lips.  He snatched the dill pickle spear off her plate and dangled it between his thumb and pointer finger, “Ah, Heaven.  The Pirates win and I share Manna with the world’s most beautiful sport fan.”

    Kenyon laughed and found that she could eat again.  He patted her back approvingly and waited until the sandwich disappeared before pulling a large box out from behind his chair.  She had seen him take it from the car, of course, but wasn’t sure she could accept his gift without melting down into puddles of tears.

     She turned sideways on her chair and allowed him to place the package on her lap.  “What is it?”  Smiling right then might have been one of the bravest things she had ever done.

     “Just a little something I found at a garbage sale and thought it would be perfect for keeping you from forgetting your tired, old Grandfather.”

     Garbage sale was his only name for the garage sales he loved to frequent, more for the chance to snoop into peoples lives, and exchange gossip and chatter, than for any real interest in the items being offered.  Pittsburgh had a tradition of visiting with neighbors, family and passers-by on the swings and gliders on the wide front porches.  For Grandpa the yard sales were a happy extension of that tradition.

     At first, Kenyon hadn’t figured out how to open the seemingly, seamless box, but as she explored the stationary and exclaimed over the malachite pen, she found a cellphone with pre-paid minutes and she had been comforted by the evidence that her Grandfather intended to hold tight to the ties that bound them together as both family and friends.

     Now, she reached into the desk and extracted a sheet of writing paper and an envelope.  Instead of her diary, she needed to write a thank you note and up-date to let him know that she felt his love with her every time she set her hand on the silky smooth wood of the desk.  She glared out the window at the landscape, which was so not Pittsburgh.

     She set the tip of her pen to the paper as her Dad swerved to avoid a plastic bag filled with garbage in the center of his lane.  The van swerving made her draw an angry line across the clean paper.  In frustration she balled the paper up and flung it on the floor of the van.  She started to put her pen away, but drew a calming breath, sighed, looked out the window and took out another piece of paper.  Grandpa would still love to hear that she was using his gift.  Melissa looked up from her electronic game and smiled but didn’t try to make any demands for the moment.

 ____________________________________

I do realize that I am not being much more co-operative than my protagonist here.  Kenyon is stubborn but, in refusing to finish her story, so am I.  I told myself, I have to finish this first draft before I can start a new NaNoWriMo novel in November.  I hope to keep that promise.  At lest, I have opened the file and am rereading the words I wrote, and trying to hear the voices of the two girls as they travel the Oregon Trail, 150 years apart.  I just never realized when I first conceived of this book, that even the 1990s girl might be history when I finally put her in front of an audience.