The Half Full Glass - IWSG March 2025

 

Welcome to IWSG Day. The goal of this blog hop is to share and encourage. Writers can express doubts and concerns without fear of appearing foolish or weak. Those who have been through the fire can offer assistance and guidance. It’s a haven for insecure writers of all kinds. IWSG is the brainchild of our ninja leader Alex Cavanaugh. The March co-hosts are Ronel Janse Van Vuuren, Pat Garcia, and  ME! For links to all contributors, click here.

This month’s optional question: If for one day you could be anyone or "thing" in the world, what would it be? Describe, tell why, and any themes, goals, or values they/it inspire in you.

This is a pretty creative question and since I don’t often get particularly introspective, I’m finding my answer hard to articulate, but here goes.

If I could be one “thing,” it would be the particular feeling I get in my heart during certain experiences. Without being cliché, although I suppose I am, it’s what I feel after waking on a February morning to see pink clouds behind skeleton trees and realizing the sun is coming up earlier. It’s the joy of discovery when I find the first Snow Drop in my early March garden. It’s the sound of seagulls as they soar over tidal mudflats. It’s the belly laugh I get from my adult daughter when, once again, one of us says what the other is thinking. (“Get out of my brain!” we yell at each other!) It’s the sad-joy I experience when I see a fleeting glimpse of my dear late husband in the gait of his brother who lives next door. It’s the kindness of the volunteers with whom I interact, who use their own time to drive senior citizens to medical appointments, prepare hot meals and deliver food to the homebound in my town. I could go on and on, but I suppose the feeling I’m trying to describe is gratitude for all the gifts I receive and witness on a daily basis. But it goes beyond gratitude. It’s the continued feeling of unexpectedness to these things and an all-encompassing delight that they are a part of my life. The newness never goes away.

I’m aware as a general rule I’m pretty naïve, but humor me here. There are so very many people in the world experiencing challenges beyond anything I can imagine. If I could, I’d infuse my feeling into every being across the world,  so that everyone could experience positivity even when things look beyond bleak. 

If you could be any one or thing, what would you choose?

Back to the Future - IWSG February 2025

 

 Welcome to IWSG Day. The goal of this blog hop is to share and encourage. Writers can express doubts and concerns without fear of appearing foolish or weak. Those who have been through the fire can offer assistance and guidance. It’s a haven for insecure writers of all kinds. IWSG is the brainchild of our ninja leader Alex Cavanaugh. Co-hosts for February are Joylene Nowell Butler, Louise Barbour, and Tyrean Martinson. For links to all contributors, click here.

February optional question - Is there a story or book you've written you want to/wish you could go back and change?

Funny you should ask. The first book I ever tried to write was such a disaster I put it away, took a couple of writing classes, and moved on to other things. When I thought of that first attempt at all it was only to consider how not being able to write it propelled me forward.

But over a year ago, I found myself at a low point. I had no interest in starting anything new but wanted to keep writing. Rifling through a drawer, I discovered a printout of that first muddle. Sorry to say, it was even worse than I remembered. But the timing was good. Pulling that mess together would certainly involve a challenge.

Today, what was once a wreck of a novel is now a solid piece of work I like. The red-ink comments of a trusted reader are sitting beside my computer. She suggested I rewrite one scene to make the stakes higher, but I'm happy to say that other than that, her feedback was positive, her changes few.

Honestly, I thought this book was a lost cause. Even now I’m surprised I had the nerve to dive into it again. So in answer to this month's question, I can’t say I “wished” to return to this particular story, but I’m delighted I proved to myself that I could.

Do you have stories you wished you could go back and change?

A Tribute - IWSG January 2025

 Welcome to IWSG Day. The goal of this blog hop is to share and encourage. Writers can express doubts and concerns without fear of appearing foolish or weak. Those who have been through the fire can offer assistance and guidance. It’s a haven for insecure writers of all kinds. IWSG is the brainchild of Alex Cavanaugh. Co-hosts for the January 8 posting of the IWSG are Rebecca Douglass, Beth Camp,  Natalie @ Literary Rambles  and me! For links to all contributors, click here.

This month’s optional question: Describe someone you admired when you were a child. Did your opinion of that person change when you grew up?

The summer I turned sixteen, I spent two months living with my best friend who’d moved one state over when her father purchased a country inn. Looking back on it, I think she was having trouble settling and  her parents imported me to help with that. Whatever. We missed each other like crazy and the plan was we'd both waitress in the inn dining room while having the summer together.

Starting my first paying job in a town where I knew no one but my friend was a bold step for shy me. After my first breakfast shift answering to a barking cook who had zero patience for a scared teenager, I climbed the stairs ready to flop on my bed for a good cry. But in the hall in front of my room, which happened to be next to the laundry area, I encountered a freckle-faced woman holding a bundle of sheets. Her face broke out into a welcoming smile and she greeted me by name, as if she'd been waiting to meet me. I have no idea if she recognized how miserable I was, but if someone asked me to describe an experience representing kindness, it would be that moment.

Kitty was a sort of Jill-of-all-trades around the inn and meeting her was the first thing that gave me comfort during those early awkward days away from home. Every time I saw her she offered me that same brilliant smile. Ultimately and regardless of a fifteen-year age difference, the two of us became friends.

I spent two summers working at the inn and afterwards became a prolific letter writer to folks I met there. Even then I expressed myself better in writing, and foremost and especially, I wrote to Kitty. She rarely wrote back but called on the phone and reached out to me when she was in my area. She invited me to her home on many occasions where we picked blueberries and blackberries in her yard. She and a friend traveled to see me when I was in college in Vermont, and after I graduated, she visited when I worked my last “summer job” on Martha’s Vineyard. We went to lunch when she’d come for appointments while I was employed in the city, and I remember being tickled when she commented about how grown up and professional I looked. The day after Christmas one year, I brought the man who ultimately became my husband up to meet her. Years later, after training as a nurse, she quizzed me when my young daughter and I visited her and she learned I’d had serious  surgery.

And then, as it is wont to do, life happened. A full-time working Mom, I crammed my daughter’s activities, home management, and family demands into the precious little free time I had. Letter-writing (or emailing at that point) landed lower on the priority scale and my regular communication with Kitty petered out. But always, I made sure to write a detailed Christmas letter, and most years, I got a long one back. Though I hadn’t spoken to her for longer than I care to remember, there’s Facebook, and when she discovered I’d lost my husband she called, telling me how even though we’d reached the ages we had, she’d always consider me her “little friend.”

I keep the silver bracelet she gave me for my seventeenth birthday in my jewelry box. I carefully hand wash the one wine glass remaining from a picnic set she sent as a wedding present, thinking of my dear friend every time I use it. These days, I’ve whittled what used to be an extensive Christmas card list down to three, but as always, the first one I wrote this year was to Kitty.

It’s been fifty years since that first summer I encountered her in the hallway, but even now, I think of her smile when I greet people, trying to replicate it with a warmth that starts in my eyes. I know I wore it on my face when I checked my mailbox last week and found her Christmas card inside.

Who had an impact on your life growing up?

High Stakes or High Charm? - IWSG December 2024

Welcome to IWSG Day. The goal of this blog hop is to share and encourage. Writers can express doubts and concerns without fear of appearing foolish or weak. Those who have been through the fire can offer assistance and guidance. It’s a haven for insecure writers of all kinds. IWSG is the brainchild of Alex Cavanaugh.  Thank you to December co-hosts: Ronel, Deniz, Pat Garcia, Olga Godim, and Cathrina Constantine! To find links to all contributors, click here.

December 4 question - Do you write cliffhangers at the end of your stories? Are they a turn-off to you as a writer and/or a reader?

Since I write what I like to read and I’m a tie-it-up-in-a-ribbon type of reader, I stay clear of the cliffs. High stakes is one thing. Of course we want to keep readers engaged but to me, leaving readers hanging at the end of a book seems like a manipulative way of doing so. I’m fine with stories that leave points open to interpretation, but if the plot isn’t resolved by the end, I’ll be disinclined to read that author in the future.

On other topics, the house is partially decorated and I’ve bought a few presents. I’m looking forward to our annual festival on the common this weekend I’ve written about so many times here. All of the local churches gather together and offer jumble sales, meat raffles, book sales and clam chowder. In various iterations, Santa has arrived by boat or fire truck. Now he arrives in a vintage car and sits outdoors on a sleigh in the middle of the town common for photos. At noon, a band made up of former high school musicians from the surrounding area performs a Christmas concert in a church that has stood since the 1700’s. The whole thing is low on pizzaz, high on charm and it’s one of my favorite days of the year. 

Wishing you all the happiness of the season.

What are your favorite holiday traditions?

On Walking and Artist Dates - IWSG November 2024

 

Welcome to IWSG Day. The goal of this blog hop is to share and encourage. Writers can express doubts and concerns without fear of appearing foolish or weak. Those who have been through the fire can offer assistance and guidance. It’s a haven for insecure writers of all kinds. IWSG is the brainchild of Alex Cavanaugh. Thank you to November co-hosts: Diedre Knight, Lisa Buie Collard , Kim Lajevardi, and JQ Rose. To find links to all contributors, click here.

November optional question: What creative activity do you engage in when you're not writing?

Years ago I worked through the twelve-week lessons from The Artist’s Way, by Julia Cameron. One of the requirements was to take a weekly “artist date,” which could be any activity designed to inspire creativity. Unemployed at the time and not keen on spending money, an artist date for me meant a walk with my camera.

Having worked indoors for more than half of my life by then, walking outside any time I wanted introduced me to a world I'd missed. Everything I encountered felt nuanced and layered. Two dories reflecting on still water at dawn. A paint-peeling house emerging from a thick fog at the edge of a salt marsh. Egrets stick-legging through the eelgrass. A golden retriever balancing on the gunnel of a lobster boat as it trundled into the harbor. Each time I took a walk, I found myself savoring these vignettes, taking them into my heart, if you will. It was during this time I learned to look east during sunset to find a more subtle beauty, and that winter light offers something ethereal so it's worth bundling up to catch it. Even now I think that spell of unemployment was one of the best things that's ever happened to me. After each outing I downloaded my photos and more often than not, wrote a blog post about something I’d witnessed.

These days, my writing is pretty much at a standstill. A reader/proofreader I trust is going through my last project, so I can’t fuss with that right now. I have no will or desire to start anything new but I don’t want to stop the practice of writing. For the past month I’ve been forcing myself to journal during my early morning writing hour. Truth be told, it feels like homework and I give myself weekends off for good behavior. Thankfully, I woke up last Saturday with an artist date in mind. Before I could talk myself into chores, I hopped into the car.

It helps when things seem fresh and new, so I took myself to a park one town over that I've rarely been to and not for a very long time. The land was purchased by the navy in 1906 and served as an ammunition depot until the early '70's when the government declared it surplus. Paved roads remain from its former incarnation. Rambling dirt paths skirt the river. The location is popular with dog walkers and joggers and it was busy enough that I felt the company, but peaceful enough for me to reflect on my own thoughts. I have a new phone and since the upgrade from an iPhone 8 to a 16, improvements to the camera are notable.

So there I was, walking amid the skitter of falling leaves, watching kids trying to skim rocks on the river while imagining gunmetal ships docked at old wharfs. The sun is low in the sky these days and my phone could actually capture the sparkles on the water. A cormorant circled and I waited, hoping it would land on an old piling and lift its wings to dry them. When it did, relief floated through me. 

I may not have a writing project to work on, but at least I came up with an IWSG post.

What creative activity inspires you?

Past, Present, Future - IWSG October 2024

 

Welcome to IWSG Day. The goal of this blog hop is to share and encourage. Writers can express doubts and concerns without fear of appearing foolish or weak. Those who have been through the fire can offer assistance and guidance. It’s a haven for insecure writers of all kinds. IWSG is the brainchild of Alex Cavanaugh. Thank you to October co-hosts, Nancy Gideon, Jennifer Lane, Jacqui Murray, and Natalie Aguirre. To read posts from other contributors, click here.

October optional question: Ghost stories fit right in during this month. What's your favorite classic ghostly tale? Tell us about it and why it sends chills up your spine.

My favorite ghost story isn’t a Halloween story, but it’s a classic. I’m not much of a scary story kind of girl, so it’s probably good that my first experience with A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens was a version featuring Mr. Magoo, the bumbling, vision impaired cartoon character from the 1960’s. How frightening could a story be with him as the star? By the time I was assigned to read the actual tale for high school English it was like returning to an old friend.

But it was the 1984 movie starring George C. Scott that put A Christmas Carol at the top of my favorite scale. We first watched it back in the VCR days, and my husband and I liked that adaptation so much we taped it, rewinding and playing it again every Christmas. There is still a DVD of it stored in a box labeled “Christmas Movies” at the top of my family room closet.

Scott is chillingly believable as the miserly Scrooge denying Bob Cratchit his piece of coal and returning to his own frigid house for a bowl of broth on Christmas Eve. He assumes it's his imagination when he hears the rattling of chains from the ghost of his late partner, some kind of dream triggered by a digestive complaint. Once he accepts the visitations are real however, he becomes incrementally more sympathetic as the ghosts of past, present and future show him what his worship of money has cost him and what more he stands to lose. Scott is marvelous as a newly reformed Scrooge, jumping up and down on his bed the next morning as he realizes all the good he can do.

So, yes, it’s my favorite take on my favorite ghost story because the acting is so superb it feels real. Even now, the sound of the screeching whine that accompanies the beckoning finger of the Ghost of Christmas Past gives me the willies. For those of you not of a certain age, picture a dementor from the Harry Potter movies. When the apparition first arrives, it scares the Dickens out of Scrooge (lol), and no matter how many times I watch it, it does the same to me.

What is your favorite ghost story? Is there a particular scene that sticks with you?

Punctuation, Commas [,] and Getting it Right

 

Welcome to IWSG Day. The goal of this blog hop is to share and encourage. Writers can express doubts and concerns without fear of appearing foolish or weak. Those who have been through the fire can offer assistance and guidance. It’s a haven for insecure writers of all kinds. IWSG is the brainchild of Alex Cavanaugh. Thank you to the co-hosts for September: Beth Camp, Jean Davis, Yvonne Ventresca, and PJ Colando. To read posts from other contributors, click here.

This month’s optional question: Since it's back to school time, let's talk English class. What's a writing rule you learned in school that messed you up as a writer?

English. Oy. So many rules and I’m supposed to choose only one? 

This question brought me back to seventh grade. Our English teacher Miss Newman was lovely, but I had a lot going on that year and spent a good deal of class distracted, which is to say I failed to learn how to diagram a sentence. Enough rubbed off that I know my parts of speech, but how to punctuate them is a definite weakness. 

In a display of I’m never too old to learn-itis, before receiving this month’s optional question, it happens I did a little research on the Oxford comma. Honestly, I wasn’t sure I knew the definition of an OC but I’ve encountered enough controversy about it online that I decided it was time to educate myself. Back in the day, I was taught that a comma before the conjunction preceding the last item in a list was optional, depending on what it did for clarity. My research revealed my “optional” comma is the Oxford comma, also known as the serial comma. Much ado about not very much I suppose (except for a 2014 lawsuit in Maine you can read about here), but the general idea is to be consistent with usage and always make sure you are being clear.

Oxford comma: I live with my brothers, monkey, and snake.

No Oxford comma: I live with my brothers, monkey and snake.

Without the OC, it reads that the brothers are the monkey and snake. With it, you can tell the brothers, monkey, and snake are separate parts of the list.

But when all is said and done, perhaps the best idea is to re-write the sentence.

I live with my brothers. I also have a monkey and a snake.

Anyway, there is more debate than I even knew with regard to my “optional comma,” because my research revealed that the AP Stylebook (Hello journalists!) does not use the OC, but the Chicago Manual of Style, used by book publishers, does.

Aha. This explains a lot. I started my secondary education as a journalism major before morphing to English Literature. Go figure. I guess it’s easier to blame my OC lack of clarity on competing writing styles rather than a failure to pay attention during ancient history.

Oops, sorry. I mean seventh grade English.

Where do you land on the Oxford Comma issue? What other writing rules confound you?