Short month; full calendar

In a recent letter to a friend, I came up with the idea of sending out a submission a day for a year. Thinking about it further, I decided on a more sensible goal of 31 submissions in 31 days – or one a day in January – and achieved it. My thought was that if I did that much, I could continue, and if not, that was fine, too. I mean, really, 366 in 366 is a lot to commit to, but I’ll probably pick another month and do that again – just not this month.

For a short month, there is a lot on my calendar. I met with Nancy yesterday to discuss life and writing. Monday, I’m auditioning for a role in 1 of 9 ten minute plays. Lent is fast approaching so soon there will be dinners out on Fridays for fish fries (and no dishes to wash!) On the 18th, the novel critique group is meeting once again after its brief winter hiatus and later this month I have the amazing good fortune to be taking an online course about Flash Fiction with the incredibly talented Kathy Fish.

One thing I will be submitting to is the 21st Dear Lucky Agent contest hosted by Chuck Sambuchino. This time, Elizabeth Winick Rubinstein from McIntosh & Otis is the judge. I’m sending the first page of “Ellie’s Elephants.” Wish me luck!

The news has been filled with the sad passings of people with enormous talent. Bowie will be read about forever and I want to give kudos to my cousin, Gregory Cason for being part of a tribute. He’s all bashful about it, but his name is on that byline and I’m proud of him. Hugs and high fives, Greg!!!

All right, I’m off to write, read, and make tomato sauce for dinner after our trip to the lawyer tonight. Thanks for stopping by!


*These are my Creekside reflections. Your experiences may vary.

Fresh out of Data Usage Jail

Oye to the data usage hell I’ve been through recently. I’m convinced it is Twitter or a bug associated with Twitter that sends me over the edge, but it is now the 7th, the cycle restarts today, and I’m here. Welcome to the May 7th 2015 edition of Creekside Reflections. Aren’t you pretty? I’m so glad to see you!

So, besides the nail biting as to whether or not I would go over the limit, wonderful things have happened. “Like what?” you ask. Well, the reading. It was great. The 5 authors: Stephen G. Eoannou, Mary Akers, Gina Miani, Jeff Schober, and Kim Chinquee were wonderful. Class acts, each and every one of them. If you ever get a chance, go to their readings, buy their books, read their words. Totally worth it!


Is that all? No! The readers at r.kv.r.y. went through a huge, respectful and insightful give and take on a piece we received. End shot, Mary resolved the differences and in January, there is an incredible issue in the works based on the title piece, Flame.

“That’s all?” you scoff. No! I’m preparing to send 25 pages of an old novel to my critique group today. Next week, I’m meeting with a woman I met through Bella Poynton’s playwriting class to discuss our stories. I’ve nearly psyched myself up to plunge into another revision of “Life and Crimes.” A story I couldn’t figure out is turning into a play that writes itself. And the topper of them all: I’m in a flash fiction workshop with the witty, the talented and the great flash fiction writer, Meg Pokrass. I have one draft of a story done and posted there and already have fantastic advice on how to improve it. I’m not even going to mention the awesome note she sent. I am so excited to work with her!

Outside, the trees are turning green, the apricot flowers bloomed, and I have peas coming up.





Saturday night a gorgeous, well-trained Rottweiler with no collar came to our door. He wanted in in the worst way, but the cat said, “Oh, hell no.” I gave him Tye’s old blanket in the tractor shed and he was out there for a while. In the morning, Husband met him and then he left for town. When he returned, the dog was gone just as quickly as he’d arrived. I’d just been writing in a letter to a friend about how I kind of missed having a dog around, and boom, there he was.


You know, I really want an agent, a 6 figure book contract, and a spot on the New York Times bestseller’s list. Just saying…

Thanks for stopping by!

(These are my Creekside Reflections. Your experiences may vary.)


I Constantly Notice the Difference, Don’t You?

Yeah, so I know the adage that without bad things going on, you won’t appreciate the good, but seriously, I’m pretty sure I would. A bunch of happy things have been going on–writing wise–but the rest of life has been irritating. To the powers that be, I’d like to point out that I know these beautiful flowers are fabulous:


I don’t need hungry, mean deer flies attacking and biting me every time I go outside just to make me appreciate the beauty of the blooms. Minga!

Anyway, last week, I started taking a playwriting workshop with Bella Poynton. I am loving it. The first session was such a revelation to me–I’ve gotten so many comments on rejections that whatever else was wrong with my manuscripts, the dialogue was good. I had my free writing/first attempt at a play read aloud. It was so exciting. It was one of the first times where I wrote something and came to the end and recognized that. It was a fabulous.

Then, after learning to strip down the conflicts and characters to just “voice,” I came home to find a lovely email from Southeast Review about a story I wrote during June for their Writers Regimen. My “Turtle” story was selected as a finalist for their “spotlight.” I sent two stories in. I thought the other one was stronger, but whatever. The ironic bit is that the story they liked was one where I focused on details of the senses. It didn’t win, but I now have a good story to send out during the upcoming August/September/October Submission Opening Madness. (I love the problems I have.)

Today, was the community blood drive. I thought I’d have time to do that then go to the café and grab a sandwich or a salad or something for dinner before the workshop began. Stupid me for thinking that things would work out! Anyway, I went in to donate, got done, and as I was eating my cookie, I looked down and there was blood all over. The monitor rang a bell; I was taken back and swabbed down and had a new, larger bandage applied. Which would have been fine, but I looked at the blood swabbing and saw the blood all over my shirt and I felt lightheaded, aw hell, I almost went down. I’m good with blood in tubes and bags, but on my arm and shirt, not so much. So, I was sent to rest. I got out of there and had to go buy a new shirt–not an easy task when it’s a “have to”–and I had barely enough time to get to the playwriting workshop, so no dinner for me.

Meanwhile, at home… Husband had called when I was in the intake area. He was looking for a phone number. I couldn’t leave to go get it for him, so after the blood donation/bleeding through the Band-Aid, I called him back and gave him the number. That was at 5:35. There were a few things I’d asked him to do, but by the time I got home–four hours after that phone call–and I had left originally at 4:15–so really, he had 5 hours. FIVE HOURS to do these simple things: a) pull open a tin of food and put it in the dog’s food bowl b) Take a shower c) rinse some bagged lettuce, put it on top of the ton of vegetables I’d already rinsed, peeled, cut up, and put in a salad bowl d) add salad dressing and e) heat up meat and a roll and combine them for a small sandwich.

He managed the meat and roll. That’s it. I’m still SO pissed. How is 5 hours not enough time to get those tiny minor things done? If there was some television show he watched, maybe, but no. There isn’t one, so there is no excuse.

Yes, I’ll stupidly talk to him about this tomorrow. Again. But I don’t think he gets this. I want/need to go out to conferences and workshops and meetings with other writers. When he dicks around and drinks and watches episodes of M*A*S*H for the fiftieth time instead of doing minor things like eating, it makes me feel like I can’t leave the house at all. I’m starting to REALLY resent that. I just hope he doesn’t think that’s a ploy that will keep me. I’m not even trying to be a bitch, I’m just saying that I do see the good and the bad and appreciate the difference. Right now, blood drained and playwriting workshop high, I’m feeling like he’s taking advantage of what I’m providing in the “good” so much that he isn’t recognizing the “bad” if I disappear and stop doing what I do. It hurts. It hurts a lot. Worse than the blistering deer fly bite on my neck.

(Yeah, so, wow, that would be my wounded wife creek side reflections for this week. I hope to god your experiences do vary.)