Thursday, June 29, 2006
Help! Someone Shove Me Over the Edge
There are so many things I need and want to do buzzing around in my mind I'm not sure where to start.
I have a submittal ready to mail. But it has been there ready to put in an envelope for a couple of weeks and I just keep thinking about it and I don't touch it. I know all the things we say to writers who do this. I know the reasons to stick it in and drop it in the mail. Yet it is still here.
Am I hesitating because I'm leary of rejection? I don't think so. Do I really want to be a published author? In the worst way, I have longed to be published for so long, years. Do I like to write? I love it more than I can say.
What makes me stand in one spot instead of moving forward. It is something like writer's block. My mind is blank and I just can't see me packaging the submission and mailing it. I need to mail it to 10 or more publishers and I have a copy of Writers Digest so I have the addresses and I have the cards of 5 different publishers I met at National RWA conventions and asked me to send them the submission directly and one asked for the ms and I just sit and very positively say to myself, you are going to do this and be successful.
What kind of paralysis is this? I have a bundle of supporters although none offer to read any of my writing. They are mostly writers and I guess they don't like to read what I like. It is hard to read material that is not what you are drawn to. Seems like everyone is either crazy about paranormal, westerns, historicals or intrige. Mine is none of that. I like real life stories that make you smile, cry, laugh out loud, feel part of the story and become the heroine.
Am I just procrastinating, God knows I'm a pro at it. It is the one thing in my life I would like to change but there again I just don't get up and take that first step.
I am a strong willed woman and if I decide I am going to do something I usually do it, like going for a college degree at 40 and a masters at 65. So why when I want this so bad do I not just do it? Put it together and mail it.
I have found when I put something in writing I am more apt to do it. I'm off work from Sat thru Tue, maybe after putting this into words and writing it down I'll get up and do it while I'm off work.
As I think about what I've written , I think I sound a little (or lot) nuts.
See you next time
Jo
I have a submittal ready to mail. But it has been there ready to put in an envelope for a couple of weeks and I just keep thinking about it and I don't touch it. I know all the things we say to writers who do this. I know the reasons to stick it in and drop it in the mail. Yet it is still here.
Am I hesitating because I'm leary of rejection? I don't think so. Do I really want to be a published author? In the worst way, I have longed to be published for so long, years. Do I like to write? I love it more than I can say.
What makes me stand in one spot instead of moving forward. It is something like writer's block. My mind is blank and I just can't see me packaging the submission and mailing it. I need to mail it to 10 or more publishers and I have a copy of Writers Digest so I have the addresses and I have the cards of 5 different publishers I met at National RWA conventions and asked me to send them the submission directly and one asked for the ms and I just sit and very positively say to myself, you are going to do this and be successful.
What kind of paralysis is this? I have a bundle of supporters although none offer to read any of my writing. They are mostly writers and I guess they don't like to read what I like. It is hard to read material that is not what you are drawn to. Seems like everyone is either crazy about paranormal, westerns, historicals or intrige. Mine is none of that. I like real life stories that make you smile, cry, laugh out loud, feel part of the story and become the heroine.
Am I just procrastinating, God knows I'm a pro at it. It is the one thing in my life I would like to change but there again I just don't get up and take that first step.
I am a strong willed woman and if I decide I am going to do something I usually do it, like going for a college degree at 40 and a masters at 65. So why when I want this so bad do I not just do it? Put it together and mail it.
I have found when I put something in writing I am more apt to do it. I'm off work from Sat thru Tue, maybe after putting this into words and writing it down I'll get up and do it while I'm off work.
As I think about what I've written , I think I sound a little (or lot) nuts.
See you next time
Jo
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
In Old Cape Cod
The Beginning
A Love Story that should have been
And may still
by Jo Smith
I walked into the plush piano bar one Fri night.
My friend Nelda and I had been country dancing for several hours and came by here to cool down. She had been coming here for a while, during the week, to sing. She has a beautiful voice and the piano player enjoys playing for her.
Tonight was the first time I had come with her.
The cooled air felt good on my face and the music sounded good. As we approached the piano bar many in the crowd smiled and spoke to my friend. She had made several friends and admirers since she started singing most every evening.
I felt like I wouldn't like the place because it was much more formal than the club we went to dance, though they did have a tiny dance floor, no one seemed to dance. Dress was not the problem, I always dressed as sophisticated as you would find anyplace.
I don't go to bars to drink, I go to dance.
The crowd was friendly and the men free with their praise and complements. Most all of them offered to buy us anything we wanted to drink. They were amazed to find I drink coffee and Nelda, coke.
Two of the men got up and gave us their seats. The piano bar is really just that, a piano with a bar built over and around it. We took the seats they insisted we sit in and took off our coats. It was winter and 17 degrees outside but after coming straight from dancing we were glad to take off our fur coats. I enjoyed the people and the music ... and the attention.
The night went by and eventually all the men and a few women came by our seats and introduced themselves. One man was particularly interesting. He never moved too far from my side and as the different people came up he would introduce them to me as if I was with him.
"Do you dance?"
"I love to dance, are you asking me to dance or just do I dance?" I smiled and noticed he was sinking into my eyes.
"I would love it if you would dance with me," and he led me to the dance floor with his arm around my back as if I were his date.
When we reached the dance floor he slowly drew me into his strong arms and against his powerful shoulder. We danced a few steps and he looked at me.
"I have a slight limp, do you mind?"
"No," I said as I burried myself deeper into his shoulder. He smelled wonderful.
He held me firm and close as we slowly danced around the floor. Soon his breathing became deeper and faster. His arms tighten around me and his head slid into the crook of my neck. I could feel his breath.
"Um, you smell so good, exactly as a woman should. You move like fluid, no matter how I turn."
"Thank you."
He bent his lips close to me and whispered, "I'm going to kiss you. Do you object?"
Now who was drowing in whose presence? His smell, gaze, feel! Object, I thought I might faint if he didn't.
"No."
His lips touched mine softly as I folded into him. His breath was coming fast and I could feel it on my face. He leaned into the kiss with more urgency and bent me back slightly. He slowly began to move his lips in a rotation, tasting me as he did. He made an ever so soft moan, as I thought . . . . . no there was nothing left of me to think with. I was completely caught up in the man I was so close to.
When he ended the kiss, my knees went limp. He still had a firm hold on me, so I stood as he braced me with his arms and body.
He spent the rest of the evening at my side talking or holding me close on the dance floor.
As the lights went up and the music stopped at 2am, we were still talking like old friends. His eyes were still dark with emotion and gleaming as he looked deep into mine as if trying to get inside them.
"I don't want you to leave," he told me as he took hold of each arm and pulled me close.
"I know but all good things etc etc.," was my flip reply.
"Joke if you like but someday you will stay with me. Forever."
He looked again at me and smiled.
"Nice."
"I'll see you here tomorrow night."
And then he turned and left.
(More about this later)
A Love Story that should have been
And may still
by Jo Smith
I walked into the plush piano bar one Fri night.
My friend Nelda and I had been country dancing for several hours and came by here to cool down. She had been coming here for a while, during the week, to sing. She has a beautiful voice and the piano player enjoys playing for her.
Tonight was the first time I had come with her.
The cooled air felt good on my face and the music sounded good. As we approached the piano bar many in the crowd smiled and spoke to my friend. She had made several friends and admirers since she started singing most every evening.
I felt like I wouldn't like the place because it was much more formal than the club we went to dance, though they did have a tiny dance floor, no one seemed to dance. Dress was not the problem, I always dressed as sophisticated as you would find anyplace.
I don't go to bars to drink, I go to dance.
The crowd was friendly and the men free with their praise and complements. Most all of them offered to buy us anything we wanted to drink. They were amazed to find I drink coffee and Nelda, coke.
Two of the men got up and gave us their seats. The piano bar is really just that, a piano with a bar built over and around it. We took the seats they insisted we sit in and took off our coats. It was winter and 17 degrees outside but after coming straight from dancing we were glad to take off our fur coats. I enjoyed the people and the music ... and the attention.
The night went by and eventually all the men and a few women came by our seats and introduced themselves. One man was particularly interesting. He never moved too far from my side and as the different people came up he would introduce them to me as if I was with him.
"Do you dance?"
"I love to dance, are you asking me to dance or just do I dance?" I smiled and noticed he was sinking into my eyes.
"I would love it if you would dance with me," and he led me to the dance floor with his arm around my back as if I were his date.
When we reached the dance floor he slowly drew me into his strong arms and against his powerful shoulder. We danced a few steps and he looked at me.
"I have a slight limp, do you mind?"
"No," I said as I burried myself deeper into his shoulder. He smelled wonderful.
He held me firm and close as we slowly danced around the floor. Soon his breathing became deeper and faster. His arms tighten around me and his head slid into the crook of my neck. I could feel his breath.
"Um, you smell so good, exactly as a woman should. You move like fluid, no matter how I turn."
"Thank you."
He bent his lips close to me and whispered, "I'm going to kiss you. Do you object?"
Now who was drowing in whose presence? His smell, gaze, feel! Object, I thought I might faint if he didn't.
"No."
His lips touched mine softly as I folded into him. His breath was coming fast and I could feel it on my face. He leaned into the kiss with more urgency and bent me back slightly. He slowly began to move his lips in a rotation, tasting me as he did. He made an ever so soft moan, as I thought . . . . . no there was nothing left of me to think with. I was completely caught up in the man I was so close to.
When he ended the kiss, my knees went limp. He still had a firm hold on me, so I stood as he braced me with his arms and body.
He spent the rest of the evening at my side talking or holding me close on the dance floor.
As the lights went up and the music stopped at 2am, we were still talking like old friends. His eyes were still dark with emotion and gleaming as he looked deep into mine as if trying to get inside them.
"I don't want you to leave," he told me as he took hold of each arm and pulled me close.
"I know but all good things etc etc.," was my flip reply.
"Joke if you like but someday you will stay with me. Forever."
He looked again at me and smiled.
"Nice."
"I'll see you here tomorrow night."
And then he turned and left.
(More about this later)
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
"Cool Beans People"
Writer of Fiction
My List of
"Cool Beans People"
Deb Terrell -hand picked for me by God
Dona Lambert - daughter and a best friend
Vicki Smith - loves my son and makes me feel loved too
Merline Lovelace -mentor/coach/friend
Rinda Elliott - wild minds that met and bonded
Betty Sanders - my smoother of feathers and feelings
Terri Schaefer - my rudder that guides me through troubled waters
Debi Talley - a dear friend and mentor for 25 years
Rena Johnson (so sorry I forgot you ) - my soul mate and daughter "2"
Nelda Hull - met her at a bar one night, a friend brought her over and said "I think you will like
each other", that was 20 years ago. We still go to the same bar and dance til our socks melt, almost every weekend
Jan Moss - beautiful, intelligent, widow, mother of two lovable handicapped children who never lets the world know she ever says "Why" or that sometime the world gets her down.
Hala Rodgers - the most fun person I know to tease
Joe Ward - PI, Mercenary with fascinating stories to tell, Civil War history buff, Security Chief for big corporation ret, loves to talk world politics and owner of the worlds most wonderful dog
Joe McNutt - country dancer deluxe, heart transplant receiver, physically strong, mentally tough and loving man and father
donnell Epperson - yek, I just got spider bitten! Another best friend forgotten. She is known as the pink spider and yes she does bite. She is a writer who has floated to the top and is sooooooo close I can feel it.
and more added often.
My List of
"Cool Beans People"
Deb Terrell -hand picked for me by God
Dona Lambert - daughter and a best friend
Vicki Smith - loves my son and makes me feel loved too
Merline Lovelace -mentor/coach/friend
Rinda Elliott - wild minds that met and bonded
Betty Sanders - my smoother of feathers and feelings
Terri Schaefer - my rudder that guides me through troubled waters
Debi Talley - a dear friend and mentor for 25 years
Rena Johnson (so sorry I forgot you ) - my soul mate and daughter "2"
Nelda Hull - met her at a bar one night, a friend brought her over and said "I think you will like
each other", that was 20 years ago. We still go to the same bar and dance til our socks melt, almost every weekend
Jan Moss - beautiful, intelligent, widow, mother of two lovable handicapped children who never lets the world know she ever says "Why" or that sometime the world gets her down.
Hala Rodgers - the most fun person I know to tease
Joe Ward - PI, Mercenary with fascinating stories to tell, Civil War history buff, Security Chief for big corporation ret, loves to talk world politics and owner of the worlds most wonderful dog
Joe McNutt - country dancer deluxe, heart transplant receiver, physically strong, mentally tough and loving man and father
donnell Epperson - yek, I just got spider bitten! Another best friend forgotten. She is known as the pink spider and yes she does bite. She is a writer who has floated to the top and is sooooooo close I can feel it.
and more added often.
Friday, June 02, 2006
Christmas Eve
Short Short Story
By Jo Smith
Today it is Christmas Eve. It was cold out and cloudy.
The street is deserted except for a form hunched over at the curb, a tramp.
A tramp, cold and hungry and he want only one thing.
To get arrested.
In Jail I will have a bed and food.
It will be warm and the boys will be there to talk to.
I tried everything I can think of to get arrested.
I knocked that old woman down.
I took an apple at the fruit stand.
Even broke out that store window.
But the police either felt merciful
or refused to believe I was guilty.
Never has anyone tried so hard to be arrested
and fail so completely.
The tramp sat dejected, his head hung low
between his dirty, wrinkled hands as they dangled
between his bent knees.
His fingers were gnarled and stiff.
Blood was dried on them where the glass from the windows he broke
had cut little slits.
Raising his head, his weary yellowed eyes glanced down at his hands.
“My blood’s getting out," he said to no one.
It seemed like such an easy plan.
Just get arrested,
but nothing was working.
Before, eevery thing I had did worked.
I have been arrested 46 times since I was 10 years old.
A smile slid across his thin chapped lips.
Not many had a record like that.
"Naw Sir.”
He cocked his head a little with pride.
It's getting late now.
He had lived a long time. He didn't feel so good anymore.
His bones hurt.
His stomach growled loudly.
He stretched his legs in front of him, straight out from the curb.
His knees popped and cracked.
The concrete was hard and cold.
He got to his feet in time to catch sight of a very young boy,
running from something,
he could tell by the boys face.
He watched him come closer.
The boy was breathing hard.
Hard like when you’re scared and things are out of control.
Stepping across the sidewalk the tramp reached out
and grabbed the boy's shirt sleeve.
The boy swung around hard as he lost his forward motion.
The shirt tore with a ripping sound.
Now the tramp didn’t know it but
by this brief contact with the boy,
his problems were solved.
The boy shot him dead.
By Jo Smith
Today it is Christmas Eve. It was cold out and cloudy.
The street is deserted except for a form hunched over at the curb, a tramp.
A tramp, cold and hungry and he want only one thing.
To get arrested.
In Jail I will have a bed and food.
It will be warm and the boys will be there to talk to.
I tried everything I can think of to get arrested.
I knocked that old woman down.
I took an apple at the fruit stand.
Even broke out that store window.
But the police either felt merciful
or refused to believe I was guilty.
Never has anyone tried so hard to be arrested
and fail so completely.
The tramp sat dejected, his head hung low
between his dirty, wrinkled hands as they dangled
between his bent knees.
His fingers were gnarled and stiff.
Blood was dried on them where the glass from the windows he broke
had cut little slits.
Raising his head, his weary yellowed eyes glanced down at his hands.
“My blood’s getting out," he said to no one.
It seemed like such an easy plan.
Just get arrested,
but nothing was working.
Before, eevery thing I had did worked.
I have been arrested 46 times since I was 10 years old.
A smile slid across his thin chapped lips.
Not many had a record like that.
"Naw Sir.”
He cocked his head a little with pride.
It's getting late now.
He had lived a long time. He didn't feel so good anymore.
His bones hurt.
His stomach growled loudly.
He stretched his legs in front of him, straight out from the curb.
His knees popped and cracked.
The concrete was hard and cold.
He got to his feet in time to catch sight of a very young boy,
running from something,
he could tell by the boys face.
He watched him come closer.
The boy was breathing hard.
Hard like when you’re scared and things are out of control.
Stepping across the sidewalk the tramp reached out
and grabbed the boy's shirt sleeve.
The boy swung around hard as he lost his forward motion.
The shirt tore with a ripping sound.
Now the tramp didn’t know it but
by this brief contact with the boy,
his problems were solved.
The boy shot him dead.
