Rina Fosati

Tasks neglected like middle children

My attempts at strict discipline, whether adhering to an exercise schedule or in regards to an aspect of writing, are often effective…for a short while. I haven’t had much success with that approach recently, instead I’m rumbaing around, task to task, tidying in preparation for an upcoming avalanche of writing.(I love it when I surprise myself writing – especially in conveying such a hopeful idea  in light of the current situation with a government shut down looming and all the other limp baby eggplant energy slopping around all over the place.)But what kind of writing? I love a good flash, but I also like the massive headache of a novel. What to do? What to do?

I took a walk. I have taken several walks. I talked to one of the dearest people I know on Zoom today and one of things I heard myself saying – how I tackle areas of the house depends on what other tasks there are to do, and depending on my attitude, I’ll either do the hardest, or the easiest thing. I think that’s been part of my problem, I have a book I’m polishing, I pretty much know the next book I want to write (but haven’t put time into yet) and that was it. Realizing I didn’t have a different option sparked an idea for another novel so MAYBE this will lead to writing the easier of the two since the one I came up with in the woods hasn’t gelled at all yet.

Such dreams, eh?

Except not writing is an annoyance. And I’m sick of not, thus I’m sitting here, typing to you on the pink machine, asserting future writing could soon be occurring while getting a little scared about facing a blank page in the morning. Or as part of a shadow NaNoWriMo in November. I don’t know, but how do you like my winter writing digs?

Isn’t it insane that it’s October tomorrow? I bought two small pink mums for the outside entrance table. I hope to get a white pumpkin and paint on black polka dots to sit between them before I take a picture. I was up in the loft a few weeks ago. I should have pulled the Halloween tub then, but I had nowhere to put it. Why not? Ah, yes, the fun bit…

Husband took the van in for an inspection/check engine light and yaddah, yaddah, yaddah, everything he had crammed into every conceivable spot had to be removed and then rearranged into a smaller van and yes, Husband owns a lot of carpentry tools and fiddly bits and now we get to find homes for those unvanned things and yes, it’s just as much tedious fun as you can imagine.

So that’s the haps from here. The leaves are changing and I might get to the bulbs this year. I keep meaning to move them, that is never the most nor least pressing issue around here. Oh, we did make it out to Still on the Hill to hear JT & the Law play and if you ever get a chance, you should too. Have a fantastic month. Eat the rich, tally ho, and all of that until next time! Thank you for stopping by and for the read!

(My favorite sycamore in the back 40 has developed a smiling face!)

I didn’t unfriend you; Facebook kicked me out

Hello. I have a long version of the FB saga at the end – if you want to scroll for the details as to why I am not on Facebook. I’d rather speak of better things in this world like how I never knew these plants I call snake plants bloomed, but mine did.

Early this month, my 10-minute play, “Dust Up on the Skyway” was produced by Matt Boyle as part of “Get in the Car.” Kudos to the director, Andrea Simmons and to the real-life mother-daughter actresses – Hayley Wilkins and Lisa Sommers – who brought an incredible spark to the story. It felt invigorating to see other people’s work – so much so that I’ve been working on a one-act…

Theresa and Robert were fab for traveling in from Chicago and including us in their visit to western New York and the fancy named towns like Greece. As part of a choir, Jim and Mike serenaded all of us before a delightful meal at Steel Bound with their wives, as well at Denise and Eric.

The last scheduled meeting of the writing group that met at West Falls was cancelled. I ran into a participant at Wegman’s recently, she thought about offering to host that one, but didn’t. I thought about it, too. It was an interesting experience and prompted me to start one at a different library (Thank you Lydia!) That group is still going on and still offering hope that my writing isn’t horrid while allowing me the privilege of reading other people’s work. (Thank you Susan, Deb, and Hannah!)

Rina Fosati’s ventured out to Hamburg where we met at Comfort Zone for coffee. We often zoom on Tuesdays, but in person is better and it had been a while. Thursday, Husband agreed to go with me to a lit gig. Michael Parzymieso launched his first book, “The Dale” and had a warm intro from Nicole Hebdon. Today is Saturday and twenty-five years ago it was a Wednesday when Husband and I got married. (That’s a long time, isn’t it?) Anyway, so, there it is, a recap of this….

OH! I nearly forgot! Mucho mega thank yous to Kim Chinquee for including my story “Just One More Thing” in the Endurance Issue of Elm Leaves Journal. My beautiful contributor copy arrived! I truly am honored to have my work included among so many talented writers. The amount of care Kim puts into each issue as well as her classes and training is awe-inspiring. Seriously – thank you, Kim.     

On to the Facebook Saga:

Half paying attention, I opened Facebook one night and scrolled to find a pop up saying I couldn’t “like” a post, but I could leave a comment. Weird, right? So, I went through the settings and signed out of devices and created a new password. They sent a code to do this, and I then got an email saying it was all set, and I was good to go. A minute later, I got a nasty message saying I’d violated a community standard and I have 180 days to appeal. No warning sent that I’d posted a bad thing, no mention of what the violation was, no option to remove it.

In order to appeal whatever this charge is against me; I’d need to verify my humanhood on camera. While the one page says they keep the video for 30 days, further reading shows it is a year and really, I’m supposed to believe they’d erase it in 365 days? Right. This abusive treatment came about while I’m reading “Careless People” by Sarah Wynn-Williams in which she gives examples of what a $hit person Mark Zuckerberg is to others. (I’m just past where he abandoned a member of his team in Jakarta.) Anyway, I have 169 days left to appeal, but I feel no need to give the weirdo programmers my current image to warp into fake videos, so I guess we’ll have to find another way to stay in touch if our main contact is that advertising site. (Seriously, that’s another reason not to return – So. Many. Ads.)

 End of the boring origin story of my being basically silenced on a platform for…some reason.

Thank you for stopping by and for the read! I am reading Marie Kondo’s book but haven’t committed to it yet. The whole title is intimidating, “The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up: The Japanese art of Decluttering and Organizing” but hey, it might make next month’s post succinct. Everything is possible. Have a great June and thank you again!

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 8th.   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!

Bobbling

What a time to be alive…if we are alive. I’m leaning into the belief that Y2K was the end of earth and everything now is simply hell and because of fractals, the heat and stupidity is intensifying. If I’d studied math and science harder, I could draw up graphs to prove this. Instead, I write.

How are YOU doing? What are you doing to ease the constant stress? I’m into baths. I dump 2 cups of Epsom salts over a sprinkling of a ½ a cup of baking soda at the far end, dribble a few drops of lavender oil on top, then add hot water. When I submerge, effervesce tingles the back of my neck ala Calgon taking me away.

Sexton’s “Transformations” caught my eye, so I’ve pulled that off the shelf to reread when “They Were Her Property” by Stephanie E. Jones-Rogers gets too bleak. Kara Swisher’s “Burn Book” is nearly done, but the semi-coherent Elon in the book stands in contrast to the drug fueled maniac he now is in the White House – and lord help us all for what happened there today with Zelensky.

 I’m calling my reps, meeting on the downlow with the like-minded, and boycotting. After inventorying my unpublished pieces, I’ve been submitting – which means I’m getting rejected, but oh, a few of them have been from higher ups with “almost.”

And this prettiness hit my mailbox and made me so happy. Thank you Kim Chinquee!

So it’s all diving under water then shooting higher and harder with my work, encouraging other writers in real life and online, graciously accepting criticism when it comes politely (Thank you Rina Fosati!) while bobbling along in this surreal timeline, occasionally baking and drinking A LOT of tea. (If you haven’t tried it yet, I recommend Yogi brand Stress Relief with Kava and the Dandelion Root Detox varieties.)

May all your endeavors be fulfilling and your Granny Smith apples be green. Thank you for stopping by and for the read!

Adios August! Don’t let the cat swat you on your way out

Hello and thank you so much for meeting me here in this humid heat. What a joy it has been to work outside in the mornings before it became too hot to move. I just love the dawn, Canadian fire-tinged air, and my own sarcasm. How have you been? Are your days melting together, too?

The novel editing has turned into a pre-surgery evaluation. I’ve broken the middle into a list of occurrences, discussions, and information reveal. Once that is done – and I am close – I can begin the cut and paste. I hope to use this table (and the leaves) for this, but it might be enduring a rejuvenation soon. I’m excited about the changes to start but procuring the proper material has been challenging – well, a lot harder to find than I anticipated.

Someone around here – NOT me – had another birthday, so we celebrated properly with an ice-cream cake with shiny unicorn candles. Someone hid the Barbie ones, but I won’t speculate about who might be the culprit. I mean – it’s tough to figure out mysteries like this. Two people in one house, and if you didn’t move the thing on the shelf the cats and the dog cannot reach, it must have been a time-travelling pirate who broke into the house take that one thing, right? Damn pirates…

 Otherwise, the tree outside the bathroom came down before it had a chance to fall in a direction we didn’t want it to fall, i.e. the roof.

And, before you go, I want to tell you one thing more – I am incredibly happy and dare I say proud? to be included in the inaugural issue of  Literary Namjooning, which will drop soon. I don’t care if you read my story, per se, I mean, I do, but please check this publication out if you are a reader or a writer. The story of its origin is beautiful and Melissa, Hema, and Lakshmi are among the best people to interact with on-line. Thank you to them for including my piece, “How It Is Done,” which was written during a Kathy Fish Fast Flash Reunion – I think the last one held in a Zoetrope office. Thank you, Kathy! Thank you, Rina Fosati, for your sharp eye in the editing. Just a huge thank you to you, too, for stopping by and for the read! I appreciate it. I appreciate you. May cool happiness come your way!

It’s hard to chart your progress if you don’t know where you’re aiming

At the beginning of the year in a Nancy Stohlman class, I dreamed a few dreams and wrote them out as 10-year goals. Those were divided into smaller ones, which were divvied up further so I now have a printed out list of what needs to be done by quarter, with a monthly checklist of things to do in each.  I’m happy to report it is going well despite my occasional forays into freak-outs when there are any curve balls thrown my way. For whatever reason, I respond well to lists. This new structure has also freed me of some of my worry, but not my anxiety. To ease that between acupuncture appointments, I’ve made the upper greenhouse whiter with paint and returned a few of the plants early from their usual summer hang out on the patio. Opening any window lets in the babble of the creek. Sometimes there’s a breeze. In the morning, the light is even more dazzling than this.

As with the past few summers, getting back to the labyrinth hasn’t happened as often as I would have preferred, so this space serves as a calming spot where I drink tea, eat apples, and lately, edit. I didn’t think this was where I’d be, but I embrace it. Having the year-end accomplishment list I made was a heavy lift because I aimed for acceptances with print. As of now, I have had work appear in two that I can already hold in my hand in June. Trust me, it’s extra thrilling because both include work from fellow writers I love and respect. Again and again and again, thank you Kim Chinquee for inclusion in Elm Leaves Journal’s Eclipse Issue and thank you to The Drevlow for accepting my piece for Issue 11 of Bull. (Look at those covers. I’d buy them even if I weren’t in them.) The year isn’t over, but with that spectacular success crossed off, I’m on to the next ones.

The book edit I did earlier this spring sat for weeks. I returned and have been correcting it at a line edit/add a red herring here/downplay this, but mention it hard enough to be memorable stage of editing. (And by the way, may I offer apologies to all my poor beta readers who read even part of this mess. Especially Chel! I am so sorry I didn’t know how to make it better in an earlier draft!) I did think this read through would have me patting myself on the back for the clever bits, and there were a few, but in this draft, it’s apparent it needs more fine-tuning and craft. (I read, learn more, and then take scissor blades to phrases I’ve refused to cut in previous drafts. Killing your darlings can be gruesome and brutal – especially when you set the cuttings on fire to warm your soul with their flame…but maybe that’s just me and my editing style.)  

Anyway, the problem is that I have perfectionist tendencies and could spend the next thirty years on two sentences if I wanted to, but if I want to reach the goals on my list, I can’t. So while I’m not going fast, I’m striving for this version to be the good enough draft which will aid me in the next step, but I also want it to be over already. Last night I ran into another area I wanted to cut and paste into a better flow, but allowed myself to rest instead of delving into that messy spot when it was nearly midnight. Today, refreshed, I’m going to tackle other things. The weather of western New York decides the flow of which work is tackled and when. Besides writing, there is wood. I’ve been putting up what I split and stacked last year. As another row in the shed gets filled, I am happily in awe. All the time spent last year working on splitting is paying off and for that, I’m grateful. Though I itch to finish the book, I visit the white room and calmly remind myself there will be other days where I’ll want to stay in from the heat or days when it’s too rainy, and move on to the next task with less worry. A change in perspective helps, and sometimes you see chipmunks hanging upside down, too.

Besides the enormous help I feel I received from Nancy’s course, goals aren’t met without hard choices being made. There’s a meme without attribution I saw somewhere and I liked it so much I wrote it down to remind myself of its truth: Marriage is hard. Divorce is hard. Choose your hard. Obesity is hard. Being fit is hard. Choose your hard. Being in debt is hard. Being financially disciplined is hard. Choose your hard. Communicating is hard. Not communicating is hard. Choose your hard. Life will never be easy. It will be always be hard, but we can choose our hard. Pick wisely. ~Proper accreditation to be placed here if I ever find it.

Early on in our relationship, Husband and I decided to follow the cliché of saving for a rainy day which helped when the roof was damaged, and now, for this.

Of course the calculated time saved on working on the broken tractor has been transferred to wagon problems, but I’m focusing on the good parts, here. He can now mow the lawn and leave me out of that chore altogether so I have more time to edit and notice the beautiful surprises like a mountain laurel in bloom. I didn’t plant it, but I happily share this unexpected delight from Mother Nature. Isn’t it pretty?

I’m also happy to report Bertie graduated her first round of obedience course. Here’s our happy grad, just before eating her mortise board.

So yes, there is slow, steady, sloggy progress going on here. We’re making choices and enjoying the side benefits. After I post this, I’m going to pick fresh, ripe and sun warmed blackberries from bushes I transplanted last year to a more convenient spot, where happily, they took.

May all your goals be possible to reach and all your roots grow deep. Thank you for stopping by and for the read!

Out of the Attic and into the Garden

Ah, novel rewriting, what a treat. If you’ve not enjoyed the process, may I suggest not having most of the action in your book take place in an attic? As I sat in the corner of the library, typing, fixing, adding, and cutting to get this novel even better than it was, I swear I developed claustrophobia.

I’m tearing myself out of that mindset by digging dirt. The first spring after started the no till garden idea? Clear delineation of where I was able to use the garden weasel to rid the area of dandelions by the root vs. where the cages were and I could not weed. Seeing that I didn’t have as much work as I thought I’d have, I went to a nursery to buy plants and zap – randomly ran into fellow WNY writer, Christina Abt.

Zucchini, yellow squash, cucumbers, bush beans, peas, jalapeno, and green pepper plants are in the ground and -knock on wood- semi-slug protected by copper. The twelve holes for the Roma and Heinz tomato plants are dug and after dinner tonight, I could be done with the planting. Yesterday, I made thirty-two thin pancakes for the enchiladas. I made a big tin of fudge nut bars that need to be cut. With proper portioning and freezing, this is how I am buying future time.

Time runs faster once June hits. I might be camping in the Alleghenies with Kim Chinquee and Nancy McCabe in a few weeks. I might be weeding. I look forward to popping in to spend time with Rina Fosati again soon. If Husband and I make it to 7pm, we’ll have been married 24 years today. A new riding lawnmower may be our mutual anniversary gift, which you must admit beats the hell out of the sump pump we went and bought on my birthday a few years back. I’ve had some nice rejections, does this precede acceptances in the coming days? Only the flowers know.

White peony in bloom, trees in sunlight in background

Speaking of flowers, did I mention “Blooming” made it into Litmora’s third issue? This flash is how “Near Eden, New York,” a previous novel I wrote, begins. Gooseberry Pie did me a solid by including “Hearts Compounded” in its 12th issue. Do check out other pieces from the one – or a previous issue. Six sentences? Come on, you have time to read one or two, don’t you?

Reading is an exercise I’ve been doing less than Pilates these days. Sometimes a break from words is needed, so I’m taking a short one to enjoy my day.

Please enjoy the day you’re having. Thank you so much for stopping by and for the read!

Cheers!

Sometimes life is so crazy it looks like a dog with a cigar

I thought March was spectacular and then April came around. Sure, I had another birthday, which is fine, I guess, but eh the “aging” bit could go. I did receive amazing gifts of love through words, deeds, FB posts, flowers, and even presents. Thank you all and here is the picture of the cake I honestly would have shared with you had you dropped in at the time:

The 5th had me in Buffalo for a workshop where I had the opportunity to reconnect with members of my old writing group that met in Hamburg at the Comfort Zone and pitched the novel I’m rewriting to an agent. She gave me her card and told me to query her when it was done, so in the parlance of that structure, it was a victory. I’d no more than spun around and it was time for the solar eclipse. We did it up in style.

Friends from Chicago arrived and we had dinner with them and the amazing Tuttle clan. Friday, the 12th, thankyouthankyou Kim Chinquee hosted the Elm Leaves Eclipse Launch where not only was I listed as special guest and ELJ Contributor on the posters, I read with her talented students, but also with Rachel L. Johnson and Justin Karcher. Seriously, if you know anything about the Buffalo Lit scene, you know reading with Justin is a Buffalo bucket list must do and I did it. Thank you to everyone who was a part of the launch! AND my niece Ashley showed up  – as well as the couple from Chicago as a surprise, which it truly was, Thank you Robert and Theresa. Because of Kim, there are pictures of this incredible event. Thank you!

Thank you Kim also for another wondrous Drop Hammer. This month, it was Nancy McCabe. I’ve got her, “Can This Marriage Be Saved?” on my to be read pile. After she read from new work, there was discussion and food. Carol – and I’m sorry I don’t recall her last name – led us to a gallery in the AKG open to the public. Before and After Again, the current exhibit of artwork, prose, and poetry by the Buffalo-based Julia Bottoms, Tiffany Gaines, and Jillian Hanesworth is incredible. The depth of the portraits and the food images, as well as the prose and hope in the seeds – a truly moving tribute to those lost, but also to those who still live in the area of the Tops shooting and the tentacles of how food deserts compound misery.

I don’t know if any of that is right, art is subjective after all, and I really liked this lamp made by Henry.

That was another experience I was graced to experience. I’d gotten an acceptance at Litmora, which led to my trying to work that in at the launch, and there was an invitation by the editor to attend the Fredonia Literary Festival, and so I did. Completely interesting and fun, plus it turned out that both Henry and Tabi are from Springville. How cool is that? It’s even cooler because Tabi (moderator in the first pic) also has ties to the town where my grandmother lived.

I’m grateful to be here. Western NY is such a lovely spot filled with great souls and flash writers like Rina Fosati. When I went to visit her, I came across a free lawnmower that Husband is falling in love with more with each pull of the cord. I am blessed beyond measure and if you’re reading this, you are the part of the wonder in this universe. Thank you for being that.

Thank you for stopping by and for the read ❤ Enjoy your May!

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!

Funny things, plans.

Tuesday night, I finished reading Ann Patchett’s “Tom Lake.” Because it was in the library’s waiting pool, I had to read it within a week which was unfortunate as the book is filled with natural breaks. There are places where you want to slow down, close the book, and think about your own past, the meaning of family, heredity, legacy and what’s at stake once you start telling your stories. The narrator insists on starting at the genesis of her role as Emily in the play “Our Town.” She listened without watching the auditioners and discerned what didn’t work. She tried not to sound like the competition, won the role, and betrayed a good friend. The harsh judgement the narrator places upon herself for choices she made as a teen go a long way in sympathizing with the mother as she tells about other life choices she’s made while picking cherries in the orchard with her three daughters. Her daughters poke and prod, plead, and finally forgive themselves for getting their mother – and their father’s life before they were born – all wrong. It’s a lovely story where you’ll laugh, you’ll cry and if you’re like me, wonder why you can’t write like that. (Not that all writers should sound like Patchett – I hope you know what I mean.)

So, later to bed meant later to rise. My to-do list for Wednesday was long enough when I went to bed. I opened my email to find it was the last day to apply for a NYFA grant. (I swear – and it’s true – the closing date used to be in February so it wasn’t on my radar.) The to-do list lost meaning as I rushed to write an artist’s statement, synopsis, and a character list and got it submitted in time.

This month I’ve been shoveling words in a novel for NaNoWriMo and attempted to write a flash a day with Hot Pants prompts. I’m within a few hundred words of closing out the 50,000 towards the latest book and if I scramble, my last 6 flashes might be written in time so yes, cool, for being within the sight of the finishing line BUT for NYFA, I pulled out a section of The Function of Foam to use and ended up immersed in that claustrophobic attic with the bats and Frank. Switching back to Ina and Milac caused a bit of whiplash, but I’m sure it will pass.

In a slightly less rare occurrence, I left the house for literary adventures. It was a genuine pleasure to meet Lissa Marie Redmond. She came to the Comfort Zone as a guest speaker to the newly revamped Hamburg Writers Group – presided over by the talented MaryJean Zajac. There was a write-in for NanNoWriMo at the McKinley Mall Barnes & Noble. It was lovely to see John Bowers, a decent man and a ML to emulate. Thank you for including write-ins in the Southtowns!

I hemmed and hawed about going to Buffalo to see Sarah Freligh in the Drop Hammer Series which Kim Chinquee does an outstanding job of coordinating, advertising, and hosting. Omg, I’m glad I did. It was the best time. Part of the “problem” I’ve been facing with the new novel I’m feeding is the point of view. During Sarah’s reading and talk, that came up an it was so enlightening to be in an environment to discuss the gears of writing with a group of people. After, I was privileged enough to go out for drinks with her and Kim before Kim’s next class.

 Gratitude is something I incorporate into my everyday life, but there is a pull to fuss over a Thanksgiving dinner so I did. I made cranberry sauce.

Now, because I enjoy making my gifts, I’ve started the baking, then cooling, then cutting, and wrapping endless mouthfuls of joy to share. Here’s one of at least 2 pans of dream bars I’ll be making, nearly ready for the oven.

My new temporary life as a baker awaits me the second I’m done with the insane amount of writing I’ve been doing. Thank you to Eric Bosse for the insight into sometimes 3 sitdowns at the keyboard for half an hour produce more than a solid sit for an hour and a half. Thank you to Rina Fosati for coming to Bluesky and commenting on the artists and artwork that strike her fancy to research. I’ve missed it. Hugs!

How are they already done and out of the oven? I hate it when time snaps my attention like that.

Thank you for stopping by and for the read. Please enjoy your day for all its worth!