Friday, April 29, 2016

Flash Friday - Thoughts about X


Trickery with X 

for 

National Poetry Month



X-rays and xacto knives
No, let's not go there.

X-factor,
No, I don't watch that either.

Xenophobia
Nope, none of that. 

Xenogenesis
Nah, my son looks like both of us.
Although my three sisters and I all have different hair color.
No one believed we had the same mother and father.

Xenomorphic, 
Lots of odd rocks in our collection.

Xanth,
I did love Piers Anthony's imagery world 
When I was a teen.

Xavier Cugat,
He was married to the cuchi cuchi babe.
Charo for those too young to remember.

Beware the big bold x of the railroad crossing.
Don't try to beat the train.

Xeroxes to Xylographs
modern to the past. 

Time for me to make my exit,
since I find that I'm quite perplexed. 

Sunday, April 17, 2016

Sunday Salon: Dinty Moore's Field Guide to Writing Flash Non Fiction

I've been derailed by nonfiction. Would never have believed it.  Me, who only reads fiction and likes to escape into a book has embraced nonfiction.  I knew absolutely nothing about flash fiction or flash non fiction before I started taking courses at WVU.  First I read Dinty Moore's Rose Metal Press Field Guide to Flash Fiction which led me to the Field Guide for Writing Flash Non Fiction



I’m intrigued by Moore’s history of flash non fiction.  It’s renewed my interest for reading Montaigne’s Essays which has been languishing in my stacks. It occasionally yells ‘read me, read me’ and I say, ‘okay in a few.’   I’m fascinated by all the rabbit trails, authors and essays and magazines to read and absorb. 

“Bernard Cooper offers perhaps the first attempt to define the brief essay form...To paraphrase Cooper, then, the brief essay form is discrete, sharply focused, and must be held up, studied like a small tableau, to review the secrets of human nature contained therein.”

I’ll have to remember that: a tableau, a picture, a moment frozen in time.  What does it say? How does it say it?  How do you paint a word picture of an grand idea in as few words a possible while still retaining the emotion of the moment?

According to Moore, likening the reader to a smoke jumper, you start at the flash point, in the heat of the moment.  Kind of scary actually.  No build up, no lead in, just jump right in.  Will take a bit of practice, but that’s why we’re here.

Moore brings up the point “This tendency toward briefer prose in the digital domain stems partially from the eyestrain caused by staring too long into a conventional computer monitor and also from the perceived unwillingness of computer surfers to scroll too far or too often.”

Do we have shorter attention spans caused by internet surfing?  Probably.  It’s odd that when I read anything on the computer, I skim versus I absorb more when using my ipad. I have no idea what the difference is, except maybe I can curl up with my Ipad which makes it more like a book, versus having to sit upright and tense at my computer.  The computer is a tool to me, so yes, I skim to find the most information in the shortest amount of time and move on to something else.  Media has changed the way we view things.  Which I guess is a good thing for those who write flash fiction or flash nonfiction.


Which leads back to the field guide and what I hope to learn from the essays.  Moore says “literary writing is an art form, and no one definition can ever successfully pin down artistic production or product.”  Alrighty then!  I'm not going to worry about defining flash non fiction.   I’ll work on learning as much as I can, experimenting and see where it takes me.  Just keep it short, simple and exciting from the get go. And real, of course.   But how do you define real? 

Friday, April 15, 2016

Flash Friday - Night Road

Friday Flash 


Night Road 


Decided to revisit Oulipos today and share my experiment utilizing Robert Frost’s The Road Not Taken which turned out to be a big failure. I tried the N + 7 route which is replace the major nouns with another noun which is the 7th one below it, in the dictionary.  However the first line ending up being 

Two robbers diverged in a women. 

After I stopped laughing and got over my hot flash, tried a few variations but it just wasn’t working.  Then I got the bright idea to take book titles and transform them into a story, but got as far as a weird poem.  Which is below for your viewing  pleasure. 

On the Night Road 

Death Comes
Brightly Burning
Across the Endless River
On the Night Road.

Dark Shadows 
In the Woods
Scream for Me,
On the Night Road.

Flashback
Phantom
Rainwater
Dark Harbor.

The Door Within
All Through The Night
Vanished
A World I Never Made.

Midnight
A Lethal Harvest
Watcher in the Woods
Shoot Him if He Runs.

Forgotten Garden
Born in Fire
Icebound
Thunder of Heaven

Blink
Shadow of Doubt
Rivers Edge
Never Go Back

Brilliance of the Moon
A Walk in the Woods
The Brink of Dawn
On the Night Road

Infinite Days
The Silent Gift
Everything Beautiful Began Again.
On the Night Road. 

Flash Friday - Universe



Josephine Wall's Fairy Bubbles




Universe



Under the vast dark sky
Unity binds the heavens
Unusual pockets of stars
Unlocking the black
Underneath it all

Understanding bursts our imagination
Unlimited in potential
Unabashed beauty
Unique minds
unspoiled

Thursday, April 7, 2016

Flash Friday - F is for Form







April is the 20th anniversary of National Poetry month and I'm not much of a poet but like to play with Oulipo's.   So for your entertainment and mine, here's an oulipo made up of book titles containing the letter F from my shelves, in the form of four line stanzas.  Enjoy! 


The People From the Sky
Worst Fears Realized
A Pirate looks at Fifty
Final Approach. 

Boy From Reactor Four
Writing From the Inside Out 
Flashback
Fear the Dark.

Fairy Godmother
Her Fearful Symmetry
Isle of Fire
The Forgotten Garden,

Fancy Pants
Breach of Faith
Foucault's Pendulum
Things Fall Apart.

Now it's your turn!  

Saturday, March 26, 2016

9th Blogoversary Reflection



Happy 9th Blogoversay to me!  Come on in, grab a glass of champagne and let's celebrate.


My goodness, dear hearts. I can hardly believe it.  It feels like yesterday when I sat down, put my fingers to the keyboard and dipped my toes into the blogging waters.  I discovered an amazing variety of people from all over the globe who opened their blogging doors with a 'hey, come on in and join the fun.'   I'd always been that introvert who lurked on the sidelines, absorbing conversations, listening and learning, then tip toeing back home, Yes, I used to be the one who never got a word in edgewise at home.  Now they can't shut me up.  * grin *  I came to discover blogging is one big open never ending house party which is an introvert's dream.    No matter how long you've been gone, the door is always open and you are welcomed back with open arms.

The blogosphere has taken me outside my comfort zone, time and time again, and encouraged me to look outside the box.  It lead to NaNoWriMO and the beginning of a new love - writing fiction -which in turn lead to continuing my education and the ever elusive Master's Degree.   Did I want to spend thousands of dollars or could I do it on my own, creating my own DIY master's degree?  Along the way, instead of posts, I started writing my morning grumbles and character discussions by hand.  I started working out issues on the physical page rather than my blog.

Then when grief raised its fugly head, stopped writing altogether. I don't remember what led me to Writer's Village,  but it saved me and got me back into writing, even if it was just responses to exercises.  When Bob asked for volunteers to help facilitate  writing certificate classes, I jumped in with both feet and soon discovered I'd written past the grief and moved forward.

It's funny, how life imitates art or is it the other way around.  Writing takes emotion.  The characters in my stories can't live without emotion.  My fog has been their fog.  They've sat quietly in the back of my mind, waiting.   I now understand my hero, a widower, in Eyes in the Ashes much better and am ready to write his story.  You really can't write what you don't understand.

Through my writing courses, learned how to write both flash fiction and non fiction. And I realized, that's what I'd been doing all along on My Two Blessings.  In one of the classes at WVU, one of the questions asked is "Why I write?"  It opened the flood gates to why I blog, live, love, et all. So be prepared for more meandering on the page.

Why do you write?

Thank you for sticking with me through the years.

~clink~

Slainte'





Wednesday, February 24, 2016

Past, Present and Future



A picture, a snapshot of memory flashes through my head. I’m sitting in the waiting room while James is doing his occupational therapy.  There’s another mom waiting for one of her kid’s,  reading Hop on Pop to her two year old.  I listen to their conversation as he interrupts every other sentence to ask a question. Dr. Seuss was a staple in our household, same as hubby’s.  We found his old books while cleaning out the house after his mom passed.  We stopped what we were doing to browse through the books, his memories all the more poignant.  I think Hop on Pop is just one of those books that transcends time.  No matter what decade, kids everywhere learn to read with Hop or Pop or some other Dr. Seuss book.  And kids everywhere try to bounce on their dad’s stomach resulting in much groaning and laughter.

When I was nine, or ten, I used to read to my brother.  I found a picture of us, sitting on mom’s bed.  Me in my white and pink flowered pajama top, tousled hair and my new white Easter Shoes.  I was reading Hop on Pop to my little brother.  He’s fascinated by the pictures. His eyes are riveted on the pages, a finger between his lips.  Poor kid, between me and my sisters, he had five moms.  He wouldn’t let me change his diapers anymore, after I pricked him once with the safety pin. He’d scream if I came close. However, he’d let me do everything else.  Help him to read and later, when he was ready, teach him to drive.   Little did I realize that thirty years later, I find myself curled up in a papasan chair with my son, reading Hop on Pop together.  And enjoying all the laughter and giggling and squealing that followed as he tried to hop on his own pop.


I have a picture in my head of James reading to his son, who will also torture him with the tongue twisting Fox in Sox as well as Hop on Pop.  Then experiencing the time honored tradition of his son bouncing on his father’s stomach.