Gina Detwiler

Spring(ish) Fever by the Creek and Writers

I’m thinking there’s a deeper essay in here, but I haven’t fleshed it out enough. Writing this is hard enough. I’d been distracted by the reports over the weekend of a jumper at the High Level Bridge.

Today I found out it was my old doctor who I never met. He’s literally my age.

Was.

So many doctors recently…

In case I’ve never told you before, I hate being sick. Abhor it. Resent the amount of time it takes up so I must tell you, its extra fun to catch something at the doctor’s office during the yearly wellness exam. This time? Norovirus! Actually, Husband caught it and for days, I washed and Lysoled, slept in a mask and avoided it. Then I had to go back and got it. I mention this because doctors should mask, but don’t and I do mask and I haven’t been sick in years until I had to deal with them. I’m not sure what the appeal is for being ill. If you have a way to avoid such unpleasantness or don’t wish others to suffer, mask. Thank you. I’m doing better – except for the resentment of having time taken away from me, but it kept me from dwelling on certain thoughts…

Today, what I’m speculating about is why I bother sending out my work since it’s so often met with rejection, but there isn’t a doctor anywhere smart enough for that topic, so let’s talk about something else – like writers in the wild.

The Writing Club I volunteered to start in the local library has attracted some interesting people with neat stories and it’s exciting to feel the energy. (I’ve missed the group I’d been in pre-Covid) The other group I attend was developing a cool vibe and that was shattered. The last Friday meeting there was followed by direct messages on the socials. One of the members had a massive heart attack and died – roughly 24 hours later. This, of course, sparked a pile on of disbelief at the number of writers I’ve known who are no longer roaming the earth.

I did hear that at the writer’s viewing, our group was mentioned and that the writer had a positive experience with it. It’s going to sound like a brag, but I did encourage him to slightly rework one of his essays into a Buffalo News “My View” column. He did, it was accepted, and at least he went out as a published author, so yeah, I think it’s cool that I helped in a small way with his writing career when I had that option. To be honest, I expected to be helping him edit his book in a year, not marking the anniversary of his passing.

I know many people reject the sirening socials now with all the added bile, but it is where I find community. And opportunities. And notices of upcoming events. Yesterday, I saw a notice from Nancy McCabe. Her new book, Fires Burning Underground, will have a launch party on April 8^th. There were so many AWP pictures posted by and of people I admire. Melissa Olstrum and Mocha have brightened my day so often with their walks and her pottery. My cat climbs into my lap to be soothed by Melissa Llanes Brownlee’s singing and ukulele playing. (I’ve tried to get a picture of this, but annoying the white cat while she’s listening ends in scratches) Mike, a writer from my old group will publish his first book in June. MJ from there is on a speaking tour of sorts. Rina is decoding and polishing her father’s text. Gina from a different group is completing her series! There are so many artists sharing their lives and talents there, so it’s hard to not to cheer them on.

I think that’s the best part of being a writer – being in other writer’s lives. The blank page staring, the character wrestling, the chaos of keeping a story in your head, those are all lonely endeavors, and knowing someone else is out there struggling, too, helps with the despair. It’s sad that my old doctor didn’t have that – or if he did, it wasn’t enough.

Like I said, there’s a deeper essay lurking with better tie-ins and subtlety, but this is what I’ve got knowing the details now of a life that ended in a manner I admit I’ve contemplated for a character.

Thanks for stopping by and for the read. I appreciate the F*CK out of you, even if I don’t say it enough. It’s scary out there – resist. Do a silly walk. Sit in a box with a dog. Mine is willing – and eager – to share.

Cheers!

What do you mean it’s Easter AND the last day of March?

Greetings, you wonderful human! How are you? How have you been? To say I’ve been living a busy writing life is to gloss over details, and in order to post before midnight, I must.

To start, look at this gorgeous bit of mail. I mean, seriously, even if I didn’t have work inside here, I’d want to own this issue. It is stunning. Thank you to Kim Chinquee and everyone who works on Elm Leaves Journal for including me – which is an understatement since I’m part of the launch/eclipse festivities:

Can you believe that????

And, as if Kim wasn’t awesome enough, the poor thing relapsed with Covid and she offered me her VIP ticket to John Irving at Babel. I mean…

Thank you to Barbara Cole for facilitating the transfer and to everyone at Just Buffalo for all the amazing things they do. What an awesome experience after the pleasure of meeting Karen Schubert at Drop Hammer.

This – after the amazing Writers Conference of Northern Appalachia. Omg, talk about a nearly perfect conference. Not too big, not too small. Not too many people.

But some of the best people like Jolene Mcilwain and Gina Detwiler:

Not too far away. Thank goodness I stayed an extra day to write, think and relax and enjoy my view.

I’m busy with a rewrite and honing my first page and pitch. Seriously, it’s been fun, and a lot and I am so glad you stopped by. Sorry it’s a short but thank you for reading!

Fertile Underground

Hi. According to my camera roll, for the past two weeks, I’ve only existed in the past. On Valentine’s Day, I took pictures of the three roses Husband brought home for me – without prompting or any sort of reminder – but didn’t post them. Before that? No pictures since the last blog post.

If I have been there, in the past, I’ve resurfaced in more ways than one. Floating on my back today, the wind and rain mimicked an ocean. I looked down at my feet and saw the swirly black sands of a place in the Adirondacks where I dared to go swimming – or at least I walked in up to my knees. W, Husband’s twin, in a blue cap, sat back near the trees. Husband stood between us on the dry rippled sand. I was back with Vonnie on a past perfect pre–Y2K February day at the Atlantic. Seashells near the pier were mostly shards. Walking alone for a stretch, I felt the surging power on my legs, the grip. I imagined other beaches, mostly tan, but some pink, some white, and then I think I worked on my chakras.

Anyway, I started a course of acupuncture when I could no longer carry the weight I had on my shoulders.

The first session, I was anxious and apprehensive, but so willing to try anything for relief that I was willing to pay in cash for it until the new insurance sent out a “wellness card.” [Why yes, I DID meditation and Pilates and Yoga and STOP. My body, my choices and it worked.]

Of course it could be a placebo effect, true, but I had listened to a segment of People’s Pharmacy on NPR where a – white, I assume – man had discovered this network of membranes connecting the organs and tissues that no one had ever noticed before (eye roll emoji) and had written a paper and was ready to go to a conference when he finally talked to somebody else and – surprise- the wise man said, “Yeah, that’s the chi. Been telling you nit wit westerners for how long? But sure, you discovered it.”

And then I heard that – what I assume was a white – man admit how damned dumb he – and countless others were by wasting research grant money all because they wouldn’t listen – or hear – or try to understand what acupuncture was all about. Boom. There. Click, click. The tension in my back was from a chi blockage. I knew it. My fear of needles fell away and I made an appointment.

Today was the fourth session, and the first on my back. (I asked for people with a larger bra size than mine about spending 50 minutes uncomfortably, and Dr. Cara assured me she has a pillowy solution, so don’t let that detour you.) The shoulder pain had nearly disappeared after the second session. I’m continuing to address other issues and I’m keeping notes on the experiences, but I do want to mention that a few hours after the first time, I felt an actual shift. It was brief and intense, but so real. As if to bolster the truth of the feeling, the universe rearranged people’s schedules so now I’m not going alone to the Writers Conference of Northern Appalachia. The Bitchy Cheerleaders – novel critique group of yore – are all going to be there – knock on wood and pray for good weather. So, that’s what is going on with me. I hope you’re doing this well, too. Thank you for stopping by and for the read. (Oh – and I hope to share things to read with you soon. I’m writing. I’m editing. I’m submitting. I’m all sorts of shiny happy for my beta rock goddess, Rina Fosati. I feel wonderful and really hope you do, too.) Cheers and good tidings!

Slow gliding into the fall

Are you a bit edgy, excited but apprehensive, feeling yourself wanting to stand tall and say, “Let’s do this.” If so, it may be your season change alert signal going off. Loud little sucker, isn’t it?

Every year I replenish my notebooks and consider adding new desk supplies to my already adequate supply. It takes a long time to realize it isn’t the cost of the equipment, but the dedication to use that should weigh on investments. I have enough beautiful, lush, gorgeous to touch notebooks I never write in – the 70 page college rule notebooks are my go to.

As I sit here in my extremely stripped down office space, I consider the tweaks I want to make for my comfort – and pet interference reduction capabilities. I don’t recall the impetus for the tear down of all the notes, pictures, postcards that had surrounded me, but the lack of clutter now is noticeable and appreciated. Is it affecting my writing? Perhaps. I recently took an old 1600 word story down to 890 words and sent it out. Before that, I expanded a less than 500 flash into a ten-minute play.

I’m looking around and finding it a bit hard to believe I’m as organized as I am now. I really wanted it to be this way, and I made it come true. It’s teeny tiny moments of forcing myself to stop and appreciate how my hard work has paid off that make me say “Yes, but.” It’s the same feeling when I’ve written, published, or won something. “Yes, but.” It’s hard to be alive when nothing is good enough.

No matter. We’re all on our own journeys and apparently this is mine. I meant to take more pictures, but I did the whole scrape, scrub, scour, and paint with the beautiful parlor stove…

… and Husband assembled it in time for our shindig.

Thank you amazing people for stopping by. It made my whole soul happy to share the evening with you…

and Coiletta.

It seems the end of summer rumbles have propelled me back to writing life. I’ve signed up for classes with Kathy Fish, am fairly certain I’ll be attending the Barrelhouse conference masked and in person in October and am mulling taking a Beth Gilstrap class. Plus Community Craft’s series is amaze balls and I want to attend more of those. As well as Hannah Grieco’s Readings on the Pike and Timothy Gager’s Virtual Fridays Dire Literary Series. And there are more I’m forgetting

Adding to the abundance of those good things – my critique group exchanged emails this morning. So, as I’m saying goodbye to August, I want you to know that you are pretty great as is. Thank you for stopping by and for the read! You are awesome and you know it. Ciao!

Feeling like Janus on a Monday

The sun is shining brightly on a 19 degree Fahrenheit afternoon. Thick snow covers the ground. This “warmer” weather compresses it while it grows dirty with debris. Woodpeckers make a terrible mess. They’ve been around, same with the cardinals. I’ve already seen buds on some trees.

It’s much warmer inside, of course, where I am writing. I recovered from the trip in most respects, but I did enjoy a lot of lovely food in Massachusetts. I only have myself to blame for those extra exercise workouts I’m doing, but I’m nearly back to where I’d been in December so yeah! A little less self-loathing going on always helps, doesn’t it?

As a matter of preference or perceived talent lying elsewhere, I don’t write many short stories. There was a call for contest. I had a few sentences about a bird that I had abandoned, possibly because it was refusing to be a flash and I didn’t think it had novel potential. I pulled up the story start after getting home and it felt weirdly like a trance. I was “in” the story but I kept getting in my own way. I wrote so much more than what was required. I refuse to look back at those extra thousands of words because I don’t want to find a novel. I’m not that in to the bird. But it’s done, Nina Fosati graciously reviewed it and gave me her top line comments – and this is unheard of – I let the story sit for 5 days before returning to correct the flagrant mistakes. Last night I made Kindle read it to me twice. It might be ready to fly soon.

This month has been incredible with art, artists, and friends among them. The talented Gina Detwiler was back in town and we were able to return to one of our writing haunts to catch up. It was good to sit upstairs in Spot Coffee again. There was an unexpected letter. I watched Apex’s Snap Judgement #3 and gained some insight on what those editors were looking for in their slush. The lovely Nina Fosati let me visit for friendship, love, and hope. I and SO many other people in the writing community took a Kathy Fish “Lessons from the Sandbox”class.

On Friday, I was able to take a “Finding Your Writing Groove” class with Jerry Gordon. I’m pondering a lot of things in my life right now, not necessarily from the class, but it pinpointed several things I needed to hear at the right time and in the right order to “hear” them…if that makes sense. The day after that, we went to see live theater. It was a series of 8 one-act plays. In back of us was a person I took a play writing class with and across the aisle were two Buffalo artists I know from Facebook but met at Donna Hoke’s Christmas Potluck. Funny how everyone is connected…

So, like I inferred, I’m looking forward, looking back, and looking at the carnage around me. (I didn’t mean the “two-faced, deceitful” definition of Janus.) It’s a contemplative mood so, I’m off to enjoy that. Thank you for stopping by and for the read!

Dear October, What A Lovely Month You Turned Out To Be

There’s a coffeehouse in Hamburg called Comfort Zone and for every dollar you spend there, you get a point. You can use your points for discounts or save them up. After eating there for several years, I reached 1000 points – enough for a special outing and what an incredible experience it was! Whisked off to the Roycroft for a tour and then absolutely delightful conversation over dinner in the library at the Roycroft Inn. I snagged a ride in the convertible back to Comfort Zone for even more magic. I had pink chips, I played roulette, and I was up at the end of the night. It was a perfect, perfect night. Many thanks to Cindy, Zenia, Zach, Liz – just everyone who made it special.

I looked at my calendar and wowed myself with how many other great people I interacted with this month. I had a long phone conversation with an old friend to catch up recently. I was able to spend time with the awesome writers Nina Fosati, Gina Detwiler, and Jeff Schoeber. I met Nicole Hebdon and her husband at an author’s night she orchestrated at the Joylan Theater. The drone of the Board of Education and the Superintendent Search jargon was nearly cancelled out by the first mani/pedi I’ve had since…quite a while ago. I had my hair cut by eight inches and Husband did not notice.

I drag him out to see the colors at dusk sometimes –

much easier to do now that the upper greenhouse chaos has “settled.”

We went to a wedding. Congrats to my beautiful cousin and Ted.

Online, I’m happy to have “A Lonely Bath” up at Sledgehammer. Thank you J. Archer Avary! Also, I’m thrilled to announce I was longlisted for The Forge Flash Competition…in the nonfiction category. I’m on the same list as Hannah Grieco -and if you know how “holy shit” that is to me, well, it just is.

Another “just is” is November, which will soon arrive, and I’ll be drizzled down a hole called Day One of National Novel Writing Month. I’m also eyeing Nancy Stohlman’s Flash Nano and wondering, “Can I do both?”

Obviously, I’m insane, but at the moment, a touch of happy, too.

Thank you for you. Thank you for reading. I hope you find magic in this scary time, too.

Cheers and Happy Halloween!

February’s Bracing Ride

For a short month, this February was packed. Two Star Review, a favorite piece of flash written during the summer of Tara and Pete was published in Emerge Literary Journal. The Rains went live in Fictive Dream as part of Flash Fiction February. If you haven’t yet, check out both of these places; they print some seriously decent stories and poems. I am grateful to have my work included in them.

Also, randomly out of Taipei, I received an invitation to talk about characterization. Todd Sullivan contacted me because he came across My Song for Majabin. During an interview, which you can catch here, I read part of the story and answer some questions.

Barrelhouse held a virtual conference and I was there for it. Great experience all around and I produced new drafts I’m letting sit for a bit. Editing is never done, but until some of it gets caught up on, I’m not working on new things…which can be problematic. Attempting to write this post yesterday, I ended up with a micro, two flashes, and the outline of an essay.

I absolutely adore the problems I have, including the creepy hand icicle…it may not be my favorite thing, but it didn’t grab me, so I’m good.

There was a lot of snow. Too much time was spent dealing with doctors, insurance companies and that ilk. Okay, I did have a few pleasant exchanges with one doctor, but that was a friendly with XO Man. Another bit of happiness was a long overdue chat with Mary Akers and Gina Detwiler. (Happy early birthday Gina!) Other awesomeness was the sanity and comradeship I so delighted in during weekly Zooms with the talented Nina Fosati. Thank you SO much for your friendship, loveliness, and being a bright light!

So, March is howling at the door with both a reading and a check in/write in scheduled. I’m off to hone pitches for Thursday’s PitMad and then edit some more. Thank you for stopping by and for the read! I appreciate it!

A Merry Good Time to Exhale

Christmas was the day I felt some of the pressure leave my shoulders. There was nothing I could do about packages not making it on time, I’d locally delivered all the holiday treats, I even let Husband make the bed with the sheets wrong and let it go instead of redoing it. Cards were sent, food prepped, and vaccine shots were starting for emergency personnel. Letting go of this year is a physical relief.

Not having anyone over this year meant I could put off any deep cleaning that otherwise would have gotten done. Before Christmas, I pulled all of the books from the L in the library with the bigger fiction and the physical/societal/spiritual/financial books. Those shelves were cleaned and readjusted. Nothing is where I can find it and I found a different TBR pile to mirror the one I have in other stacks upstairs.

Christmas morning was scrumptious with sausages, pancakes, and mimosas. Thank you again to Gina’s husband for his syrup. We finally finished the syrup our neighbor gave us and opened yours!

I want to give a shout out to everyone who sent us cards; they do mean a lot to receive. This is the door we place them on to admire. Once we take them down, I’ll be putting a poster I got for Christmas on there. Thank you Michael!

Husband made me this:

See, when I do Zoom, I had a stack of books to set the tablet on for the correct height. Now, I have this platform with a place for the keyboard, making it such an upgrade in ease – and let, face it, beauty.

I’m not a “New Year’s resolution” type of person, never have been, but this year is hitting differently. Had she lived, my mom would have turned 71 today. It’s weird to consider this since she passed away in 1997 at 47. I’ve outlived her by a few years. So has my sister. I didn’t get as much written, edited, or published this year and I’m kind of pissed at myself about that. I don’t need assurances, this isn’t a plea for pity, it’s a public acknowledgement of my personal feelings. Next year, I may publish less. Or more. I don’t know, but I’m cobbling together a list of goals I would like accomplish but I can’t make myself call them resolutions…not yet.

I do want to express gratitude to everyone at SMOLDR, The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature, Blink Ink, The Journal of Compressed Creative Arts, HAD, and Milk Candy Review for believing in my work and publishing me this year. Thank you. You all helped me survive this insane year. So did the amazing friendships I have with Nina Fosati, Chyo, my Husband, well, I could spend all day making this list and then nothing else would get done but yes, you are on the list…you know you are.

Thank you for stopping by and for the read. And on a deeply personal note, I doubt there are birthdays in the afterwards, but I hope my mom is having a happy day wherever she is. I miss her.

A little chat about characters in August

I can’t imagine a worse job than being a neurologist stuck trying to study the brain of a writer. Even the prefrontal cortex of a reptile is complex. Writers create characters and those characters have needs, wants, and desires. Some become so real, they “come to life.”

August tends to be the month where I get a lot of writing done because I can sit alone in cabana without radio or internet and focus on a story. After one of those sessions, one of Mary Aker’s characters stopped by. Atlas was…unbalanced in the book. (No doubt you’re thinking I am as I tell you this.) He asked if I remembered a fight scene in her book. I did. He told me he had a problem with it. I nodded at him with the wary respect I lend to forest animals. He went away.

The next time I was out there and getting ready to leave, he showed up again and asked if I’d spoken to Mary. I told him I hadn’t had time and rushed away. Mary happened to text a breezy, hi-how-are-ya-I-miss-you. I told her I’d been thinking about her book.

Atlas reappeared and told me he thought a certain baby was his. I told him he was mistaken. The sperm was from – he cut me off. He claimed it was switched. Or mixed. There was a chance that it was his. I told Mary this. We had a zoom with Gina, and the subject was brought up. We all hashed out possible plot twists. What if a Gloria switched the sperm and told Atlas about it in a certain scene – trying to keep from rewriting down. It was a weird but good exchange. I was done with the matter. I went out, worked on my own story, and Atlas stayed away – satisfied, I suppose.

Gloria waited until I was cutting up fruit for dinner to make her appearance. She likes Atlas. She can’t have children, but sees nothing wrong with taking Sylvia’s baby away when it’s born. If there’s one successful pregnancy, there would be another. Sylvia could use the sperm of the specimen she really wanted. What was 9 months of delay?

I find it all rather Meta that these shifty characters Mary created had a way to pop into my head for a chat. Are all the abandoned characters out there waiting for us to notice them again? Would a neurologist be able to explain away the phenomena instead? These are the things that have been on my mind.

Otherwise, I’m rewriting a book which is frustrating because two characters that had little to do with each other in the original are about to fall into bed – or shoot each other. Either outcome challenges the rest of the plot. Sigh.

Husband had another happy 45^th birthday.

The garden is producing many tomatoes.

The dog

Went to the groomer.

The rose bloomed.

Wild grapes were picked.

There was a nocturnal visitor at the hummingbird feeder.

Another section of the house is being painted.

And thus concludes this month’s blog post. You are wonderful and full of grace. Thank you for stopping by and for the read!

July and Domestic Adjustments

This month, the fear of everything closing down again served as an impetus to get things done. We replaced our king-sized mattress with two extra-long twins and installed an air conditioner. Both were objectives we kept putting off and now that we’re both getting a good night’s sleep, we wonder why.

We put in another step on the walkway down to the south lawn. The Chipmunk of Doom was warned it was going to happen, but he doesn’t seem happy about it, does he?

Husband finished up the remaining drawer fronts in the kitchen.

Aren’t they gorgeous?

I believe this is a picture of the last bouquet I bought. Cheap flowers from grocery stores were one of the few things that kept me sane this spring. Now, it’s blooming season and these beauties greet me every time I walk out the door.

The lilies take turns showing off their soothing brilliance.

And the wildflowers in the far back are a delight. I brought this one in to identify and haven’t yet – but if you know what it is, please don’t hesitate to tell me at TLSherwood01@gmail.com

As ever, the garden is what it is and currently, it’s well weeded. The peas were wonderful and now the beans and squash are here.

Inside, I made new cases and transferred the feathers from my pillows into them. It’s so nice to have plump and cushioning ones again. I’d used Husband’s sewing machine. In a flurry of texts, that to me still feel unreal, I’m the proud new owner of a Singer sewing machine in a cabinet. Many, many thanks to the marvelous XO Man for the amazing offer and gift.

It’s setup in the bedroom and when not in use it serves as a new writing spot and I’ve even used it to set up the tablet for a Zoom session with Gina and Mary.

Speaking of Mary, she sent a ticket for virtual Crab Con and I went to check out the platform she used. I stayed for the Baby Crab Cam and some interesting discussions as well as a video. It was fantastic! She also let me do a bit of ghostwriting. Thank you!

I managed to submit seventeen pieces this month and am thrilled to say my piece “The Thinnest of Veneers” will be published in Cathy Ulrich’s amazing Milk Candy Review later this year. It started from a prompt in Kim Chiquee’s Hot Pants Office. I’ve knocked out at least five rough drafts for new flashes and an essay. A few things happened that have given me fodder I plan to explore soon. It’s been a while since I’ve felt competent in my writing. (And as soon as I wrote that, I received a rejection. Ugh!)

The library reopened and so far I’ve read Celeste Ng’s Little Fires Everywhere and The Future of Another Timeline by Annalee Newitz. I’m catching up on stories in the New Yorker, too. I grew brave on a perfect day and visited with the spectacular Nina Fosati – outside and six feet apart. Not giving and getting hugs saddened me, BUT hopefully soon Covid will be in the past and we can all get back to whatever we choose to be a brighter and more humane normal. In the meanwhile, this creature tempts me to pet and to play, otherwise I’m sure I would have done even more this month.

Thank you for stopping by and for the read. Remember, you are AMAZING and I probably miss you!

T. L. Sherwood

Creekside Reflections