While researching one of my favorite characters, Miss Phyrne Fisher, I came across the website for the company that publishes the books. Allen and Unwin which is located in Australia. They have all sort of posts about how to write, improve your writing, getting ideas etc. I thought I would share the link to the Getting Started page. I hope you find some helpful information there.
Tag: writing
How do you know?
For all of you bloggers and readers out there, how did you know you were living where you belonged? If your place of residence was not your choice but the choice of your partner or company, how did you go about making it feel like home? If made the choice to move, how did you decide where to go? I moved quite a few times between the ages of 9 and 14 every time my father received a business promotion. As a child, of course you don’t have a choice, you go where ever your parents take you. Then I married and moved again to my ex-husband’s home state followed by a move to Texas when he was hired at AA. I lived in the Dallas area for 30 years and recently relocated to Austin.
I feel unsettled. I never chose Texas as a home but as long as I was married, it’s where I belonged. Now that I am divorced, I have a choice where to live. I moved to Austin to be closer to a daughter, but she and her husband have their own lives. And I don’t anticipate that they will permanently reside in Temple, TX which means in less than four years, there is a good chance they will be relocating. So where do I go? How do I decide? My finances are limited so an apartment on 5th Avenue in NYC is not an option nor is an oceanfront property in Seattle.
So I am asking you to send me either places to consider or questions I should ask myself before I move. In my life I have lived where it get extremely hot and extremely cold, so any type of weather is fine. I just can’t go somewhere that has mostly cloudy as the general forecast. I have some time to decide and plan, so let me hear from you.
One Day a Decision
The air was still heavy with humidity. 10:30 pm and the temperature was still hovering around 98 degrees. I had decided to walk the short distance because I was confident it would be much cooler by now. Seriously it was October 1st and it felt like the middle of summer. My heels were killing me. I wanted to take them off, but without street lights my fear of stepping on something disgusting kept them on.
I didn’t need an alarm clock, not once I had children. Prior to that time, an alarm clock was a necessity. Now that the girls were in school, my own body clock woke me everyday without fail around 6:30 am. The sun wasn’t quite up yet. We still had another month before we moved the clocks an hour backwards. The darker sky always made rising a little more difficult. My husband snored soundly next to me. Getting up with the girls wasn’t something he ever did and I had given up trying. I made my way upstairs, carefully kissed each of my sweet daughters, rubbing their backs and instructing them to get up for school. They never complained, not yet any way.
I took my time walking. The cooler temperatures indoors should have made me pick up my pace, but I couldn’t face home yet. Having just spent several hours in the company of eleven other women made me question my judgement. This happened every month, every first Wednesday. It had happened for the past ten years, ever since we started meeting. The sighing came naturally and without much thought. I was just happy to be alone so no one could question my mood. Somehow I always managed to stay lighthearted on these nights. Even after all of these years, no one had ever looked beyond the surface to see the unhappiness behind the eyes.
Breakfast was always a quiet time at our home. I read the paper, the girls ate and it wasn’t until they were finished any of us were awake enough to talk. Quickly upstairs to finish getting ready for school, I cleaned up the kitchen while they finished. I had already been up an hour and my husband, their dad was still in bed. I had stopped resenting his lack of help in the morning and had begun to cherish my time alone with the girls. There was something almost sacred about those morning hours. There hadn’t been a chance to muddy the day with worries or responsibilities that at times felt overwhelming as I faced them alone. We lived close to the school, but it was my joy to walk them through the park, over the creek bridge and through the small grove of trees that separated us from the school. A quick kiss and hug, and they headed off for the last of the walk alone.
However, I had hoped someone would remember, but no. The evening transpired like always. We chatted, got ourselves a beverage and took our places at one of the three tables. The night was punctuated with yells of delight as someone had rolled three sixes, a bunco. When had first gathered to play this silly game of bunco, we focused on the game and seemed to complete many rounds. If we won, we moved to the next table, losers stayed. But as the years passed, we played fewer games and spent the majority of the evening talking. My feet wouldn’t make it much further in these heels. I needed to pick up my pace if possible. I was surprised to find myself filled with disappointment. I was almost 40 years old, much too mature to be disappointed over something so childish. However, I had hoped someone would remember, but no.
My husband was waiting for me when I came back from dropping the girls off at school. He was waiting for me to make him breakfast. He wasn’t much of a talker and while he read the paper religiously, he never really expressed any opinion about the world, national or even local politics. He announced he had made plans to meet friends that day. They were going to have lunch and go look at the newest boats. As a pilot he was often off during the week and this enabled him to meet his fellow pilot friends. He never asked me what my plans were for the day. He never did. I swear I could feel the crack in my heart grow. My day was spent at home with the typical responsibilities you’d expect a full-time mother and wife to have.
Turning the corner I could see my house. My shirt was now dampened all down my back and clung between my breasts. I made the last of the walk without my shoes. The pain finally over ruled my fear of stepping into something I’d regret. I couldn’t bring myself to go inside, not yet. I sat on the bench in our yard and looked at the sky. It was cloudy so the stars weren’t visible and it made for a darker night. Was that a message? The darkness of the night? I couldn’t see a point of light anywhere. I could feel the tears begin and I fought with all I had to hold them in, but to no avail. I sat on that bench as it neared 11 pm that Wednesday night. Crying for what I had didn’t have and crying for the blessing I did have.
After school was filled with homework, snacks and dinner. The girls talked animatedly about their day. I never failed to ask the same two questions. What was the most interesting or unusual thing you learned today. And what was the silliest thing you learned or did today. Those questions always managed to bring forth a fount of information. I had learned early on the simple how was school, never elicited more than a blank yes or no. The three of us had a lively conversation and after dinner I waited, but nothing. My husband left the table, grabbed a beer and headed upstairs to his home theater. The girls were old enough I didn’t need to leave written instructions for my husband but I did it anyway.
Now sitting on the bench, I realized I had to make a decision. Would I continue to live a life that on the surface looked wonderful but underneath was empty and lacking in love? My gut said it was time to go, to leave. My heart said I was being silly to be upset over something so childish. My head argued back that this was not a one time oversight. This happened year after year and it was a sign of something deeper. Just like the darkened, starless night was speaking to me and telling me there would be no light in my life as long as I stayed. My heart spoke back reminding me of my beautiful children, comfortable life and the promise I had made all those years ago. My heart said I was being superficial. My head said it was just another strong message of how little I was valued. All I knew, was at that moment I couldn’t make any decision. All I could do was pick up my shoes, unlock the door and head upstairs for a quick shower. I would consider everything tomorrow in the light of the day. I would reexamine my life but not today, not on my birthday.
What do I do when I am not writing?
I spend to much time dreaming and not enough time doing. I make lists. I make plans. I read and research something I want to do. I read for pleasure. I think about all the what ifs in life and make more lists of what would be different if I was different.
I stay inside. I’m hiding from the world right now. I shouldn’t be. I’m in a new city with new things to see and do, so I make a list again. And promise myself that tomorrow will be different. That the part of me that loves exploring life and learning new things isn’t dead. It’s just recuperating from an almost fatal wound.
I spend too much time dreaming and not enough time doing when I am not writing. I need to really live my life to have something worthy of which to write.
Tweet Response
I have no idea if I added the twitter link correctly, so I copied and pasted the actual tweet into my blog. I went to a meetup group tonight. If you don’t know what a meetup group is you can find out by going to http://www.meetup.com It is a place where you can find people in your area with similar interests. There is a wide variety of choices, so there is something for everyone. I went to a writing prompt group. There were just 3 of us which made it much less intimidating for a first time visitor.
The group leader gave us our first prompt. He used story dice. I got an eyeball and a man thinking. The tweet above was definitely true for me tonight. How do you begin a story based on an eyeball and a man thinking? Each of us got different things. I definitely had the worst roll. From where would the words come? Should I even be there? Could I really write something someone would want to read?
As I watched the other people write when we began our second prompt, lines from a song, I was amazed at how quickly they could put their words to paper. And then when they read them, they were so good, so creative. My story sounded like something an 8th grader would turn in for a creative writing project. Would my writing every mature?
Our last prompt was a collage of photos. We could write something in general about all of the photos in our collage or we could select just one photo. I wrote about one photo and when the young woman next to me read her story, I was blown away. She had chosen to focus on the fact almost all of her photos had blue in them. Where do people get such creative ideas?
So I agree with the tweet. It seems that writing comes so easily for other authors. Their stories, their blogs, their books all seem effortless. My stuff reads heavy, like a bag of trash someone has to drag behind them. When will the words mature and the story come?
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Only One Way?
Maps. Directions. Roads. Lost. GPS, yes, GPS. Living in a new city my GPS has become my new best friend. I have never had a good sense of direction. When I was 14 years old, my family was driving from our home in Las Vegas to Disneyland. With my map reading skills, we ended up outside of San Diego. That is NOT close to Disneyland.
One of the first things I did when I moved to Austin was to buy a map. It is large and I stand and look at it, trying to get an idea of where I am located in reference to where I am going. Studying the map, I determine there are endless ways to reach my destination. When I plug-in the address to my GPS, it even gives me options. It is up to me to decide which route to take.
Of course our route can be interrupted by road work, an accident, one way streets etc. So we are forced to find another way to our final destination. GPS of course makes it simple. But when there were only maps ,no GPS, and I would get lost, I had to pull over to the side of the road and study the map to find a new route.
That is my life right now. I am pulled over to the side of the road studying it and trying to find a new path, a new direction to reach my destination. What is my destination? A life with purpose and lived with passion. Prior to my divorce, I was on a one way road and believed the life I was living was the only way to experience happiness. Since my divorce, I have slowly discovered that there are endless paths to living a new purposeful life. Just like when the GPS gives me a choice of routes, it is up to me to select which road I will take now because joy, purpose and passion lie just around the bend.
Exploring Life 101
Blogging 101 assignment: Identify my audience. Hmm, even though I’ve had blogs before, I have never considered the possibility I would actually have an audience. So this is an intriguing assignment. We were told to add media, try new styles etc to keep the reader interested. So I thought maybe learning a little more about me and where I am going with my life might help me connect with similar bloggers and people.
Me now and me a million years ago.
There are several things I typically tell people about myself when asked for the most unique or unusual thing about my life. I was on a national pageant representing Nevada. I was on a national TV game show. I was interviewed for the CBS evening news with Dan Rather. Those facts typically create quite a few questions. If you are interested in any of it, leave a question in the comment section of my blog.
At the age of 40, I spent a week trying to improve my French in Roanne, France. It was beautiful and fun, but my language skills were still poor. Then at age 54, nine months after my divorce, I went to Tours, France. I spent 3 months doing my best to improve my French. Again it was a lovely time, but I have come to the conclusion my French speaking skills aren’t going to progress past advance beginner. Below are photos from my time in Tours. Yes that is a photo of a snake. I found it in my bathroom. Again if you want more information, leave a question in the comments.
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I have lived in several states, but have spent the past 30.5 years living in Texas with 30 of those being in the Dallas-Fort Worth area. I moved to Austin in June to try to find a new life path. Austin is completely 180 degrees different than Dallas. It is down to earth, eco-friendly, creative and hilly with lots of trees. Dallas is flat, superficial, (who has the biggest house, diamond, boobs etc), not eco-friendly and has just recently become friendlier to the creative arts.
I have no idea what the future holds. I have been unemployed for over 2 years now and just learned I didn’t get the job I wanted. So I am still seeking a new purpose. I am no longer someone’s wife. And while I am still the mother of 2 incredible young women, they have successfully gone on to live their own lives. Purpose. I think that is what most of us want. We just want to have a purpose and be loved. It doesn’t matter whether it’s here or halfway around the world in some remote village, we all seek those things.
I have no idea who my audience might be. I am hoping people who are want to explore life either on a new path or an old path will be my blog followers.
Writing 101
Prompt 1: I write because
I write because I feel compelled to do so. I don’t remember a time in my life that I didn’t write. I’ve always loved to read and as a young girl I would lose myself in books. Then I would try my hand at writing my own stories. I remember pretending to be a radio DJ reporting the news. I wrote my own newspaper as a girl. This was all done at a time when it was all done freehand. I didn’t have a typewriter and I had no idea computers even existed.
I write because I believe there is a story waiting to be told, but I haven’t figured out quite yet what that story is. The ideas always seem to come when I am drowsy and too tired to write. I am positive I allow the distractions of the day to act as interference. I love to write but I am afraid to write. I am afraid to let the words flow, for the story to come. I hope writing 101 helps me breakthrough that fence, those fears and actually pursue writing.
My life on an unexpected path 
