READING AND WRITING February 7-March 5

Several items of news:

In addition to my two works-in-progress, I have two other projects due soon:

• Edits to my next book, Saving Felicity (Turned in today)
• Month-long class on Fearless Research, taught online with ACFW

I have kept up with devotions and made fair progress on Runaway Love. A very busy month!

As far as reading, I finished A Passion Most Pure by Julie Lessman. An amazing book! A much-read for fans of Christian historical romance.  Would have been worth every penny if I had bought it full price.

I also read a short story about A Jar of Pickles. Put it this way: even as a freebie, a waste of time.

This week, I am the guest at Martha Rogers' blog http://www.marthasbooks.blogspot.com,  Stop by and  leave a comment for a chance to win a copy of Homefront Dreams.

NEW POETRY AS OF 3/5/14

I found this week's assignments (the inspiration from personification and the form of a "found" poem, based on another published piece) particularly difficult.  I finally found a solution to my original inspiration (how music keys feel like colors to me):

CIRCLE OF FIFTHS

Doe a deer, not ABC

More Maria Von Trappe than Mary Poppins

Sound rounding mountain and valley

Circle is music.

C jumps to G and G hops to D

Chords climb higher, snappier

‘Til they explode with seven sharps

Circle is play

D-flat drowns in cave darkness

A-flat flips on flashlight

E-flat, a forty-watt bulb illumines

Circle is light

A, undone and shrill, runs on adrenaline

B-flat offers succor in sorrow

C is both comfort and comfortable

Circle is life.

NEW POETRY March 6-April 5, 2014

Prompt: Explore the connection between color and emotion. The old song "My World is Blue" came to mind.

MY WORLD IS BLUE

In winter-time, earth and sky lend ice
Not enough hours to entice
Blue when weather’s vice
Gives white prize
Chill

Equinox pours blue to each day’s slice

Teasing us with spring’s advice
Sky and field, so nice
So precise
Skill

Heaven is gold with rainbow’s allspice
Azures, sapphires, beyond price
Only sacrifice
Paradise
‘Til


Form: Second Chances: first 3 lines of a previous poem

ON PAROLE

Sentenced to life without Jolene

Jailed by grief

Key drowned in my sea of tears

Waves subside but black walls encompass me

Alone in the dark, my fingers fumble for light

God drills a pinpoint in my prison

Illuminating life around me

Within me

Do I dare?

Snatch the key, crack the door

On probation

MARCH THE MAGNIFICENT

 The title sounds glorious. I refuse to give in to the melancholy that stalks me today. The calendar turned from February to March and with it, a cold stone came to life in my stomach, reminding me of the reason why I dread March.

I have dreamed of my daughter this past week. From what little I remember, a very young Jolene had a baby.

Then I woke up and . . . realized the falsity of the dream.

I thought this year might be different. I breezed through February.

In any case. . .your prayers are appreciated, as always.

But the magnificence of March shows in other ways.

My oldest granddaughter (by marriage) turns eighteen this week.

Jaran will be thirty-four in less than two weeks.

We arrive at St. Patrick's Day. I've always believed my great-grandmother arrived in America from Ireland, but my recent research on ancestry.com suggests otherwise. I may not be Irish at all.  But as long as I have a bit of the blarney, that is all that matters, is it not?

This month I get to teach an online course to members of a national writing organization. The timing is perfect, to keep me too busy to worry overmuch about the anniversaries.

This week I hope to hear back on two writing projects I submitted. I may be on the cusp of getting even busier.

Oh, yes, Jaran will deliver my new computer as soon as the weather cooperates on a weekend.

I have several reasons to rejoice this month.

Including Jolene, up in heaven, who might tending to a heavenly nursery even as I write.

READING WRITING FEBRUARY 22-MARCH1

Your prayers paid off! The book I hoped to write for Christmas wasn't accepted. However, I learned that one of my previous books (Miss Bliss and the Bear) will be packaged with several others in a book called Preacher Brides, to come out later this year.

I've been invited to submit proposals for two more collections, so I am waiting to hear news on those as well.

God knew I needed some good news and sent it my way.

I was the guest last week at Inner Source. Fay did a great job with the interviews, so I'd appreciate it if you stop by and encourage her.   http://faylamb.com/innersource/?p=614 and a couple of posts before that.

As for writing itself, I received edits back on Saving Felicity The editor likes it! And says the edits are light. Always good news.

I am making progress on Runaway Love. Slow progress, but progress nonetheless

Reading: I am close to the end of A Passion Most Pure. It's been delightful and unpredictable so far.

My writing life is about to get hectic. Thank God!

NEW POETRY as of 2/26/13

WHERE HOPE FINDS ME and WALTZ OF WORDS inspired by assigned poem titles.

BITTER WINTER written to the form of a "luc bac" and inspired by Dick Francis (a favorite author) and Ralph Waite's death. 

WHERE HOPE FINDS ME

My parents bartered choices for a girl.

Should she be Bonnie Blue to Scarlett born?

Or should she sing and dance with Mickey Mouse,

A Billie Jean, Annette—no, wait. Darlene

My name reveals my age with no more clues.

For middle name, eternal values loomed

Perhaps choose Faith, for mountains rise to climb

Long-suff’ring Charity presides o’er all

Make Hope her name, where faith and love cross roads,

Her map to surety written in her name.

BITTER WINTER

Bitter February

Within, strands of mem’ry dangle

Frayed cords touch and tangle

Plus and minus wrangle to shock

Dreams, words, and friends may mock

Pounding soul against rock to break

Chips fall away and ache.

Love called my heart awake, then left

Ugly truth caused the theft.

Hope hides and I’m bereft, tears shed

And now Ralph Waite is dead.

A WALTZ OF WORDS

2/22/14

Dining tables assigned, the same four practice day after day

With Wanda, our dance takes no form

Here, she opens an eye. Yesterday, she said “no,” outraged.

The food choice brings her voice out of hibernation.

Today, her spoon scoops all bites into her mouth

Tomorrow her hand will fall into the plate, painting it as green as peas

For Peggy, we tap dance to bring words to life.

I say, “The fish tastes good today.”

Virginia starts her favorite song. I don’t like fish. My father. . .”

I interrupt, unwilling to dance to the same song.

Peggy touches my sleeve. “What are you talking about?

“The fish,” I say.

“I don’t know anything about fish.” She brings a flaky bite to her mouth.

Virginia and I dance on. . .we know

humor . . .pain . . .love. . .loneliness

For a magical moment, we mesh,

Our words floating above the table in a perfect three-step.

WHERE LIFE HITS THE BOOKS

A question I'm asked goes something like this: Do you base your characters on people you know?

The answer is . . . as always, with me. . .yes and no.

When my mother died, my next several heroines lost a parent in a way that impacted the story,

Now I'm in a nursing home and--yup--the nursing is starting to crop up

I proposed a nursing-home based romance which was rejected.

Then in Saving Felicity, she made the difficult decision to put her aunt into a nursing home.  That one will be published.

I have submitted a proposal for a Christmas story called The Three Wise Women of Christmas. Three nursing home residents encourage their hair dresser. I'm hoping it will be the beginning of several stories about the feisty ladies.

They will be a composite, with my own twist, on the lovely ladies I have met here. Both residents and staff will make an appearance.

And this week's poetry challenge suggested the title, "Waltz of Words." My mind ran through the conversations at my table . . . and so I wrote this poem.

Join me at the table and dance with us.

A WALTZ OF WORDS

2/22/14

Dining tables assigned, the same four practice day after day

With Wanda, our dance takes no form

Here, she opens an eye. Yesterday, she said “no,” outraged.

The food choice brings her voice out of hibernation.

Today, her spoon scoops all bites into her mouth

Tomorrow her hand will fall into the plate, painting it as green as peas

For Peggy, we tap dance to bring words to life.

I say, “The fish tastes good today.”

Virginia starts her favorite song. "I don’t like fish. My father. . .”

I interrupt, unwilling to dance to the same song.

Peggy touches my sleeve. “What are you talking about?

“The fish,” I say.

“I don’t know anything about fish.” She brings a flaky bite to her mouth.

Virginia and I dance on. . .we know

humor . . .pain . . .love. . .loneliness

For a magical moment, we mesh,

Our words floating above the table in a perfect three-step.