The week that was

I'm back from my writing-retreat vacation. Well, I did do some writing, and had one excellent world-building idea. But I had a problem with my neck, which made typing on my laptop painful. The good news is it was gorgeous where I was, so I will share the pretty.

Dragon kelp! Really, doesn't it look like a dragon's wide open jaws and slithery body?

Here are some thoughts that came that day as I walked to the far end of the pier:

Birds, white and silent,skim the placid jade-green sea.
From shore, a muffled thud and whoosh.
Farther out,sea lions take to sun bathing and barking from their flat-topped rock.

Storm coming. Actually there were several rain events, but they came in spurts (ha) that allowed for walks and awe.

From a underpass. Makes me feel like an explorer coming into a secret land.

Swinging at the end of the day. And, yes, I found a moment when kids weren't on the swings to pump myself into flight.

A bright splash along a dune.

Have I said lately how much I love walking by the ocean? I do. I do.

As for the writing (rewriting a novel), all that rest and rejuvenation (I had two massages and a facial!) combined with my neck getting better has resulted in three chapters rewritten since I got back.

I wish everyone such a holiday. And, I hope you find a place that makes corned beef pizza (with mustard) and another that whips up dark chocolate crepes. *grins*

A bit of drabble

On her hazel-wood broom, Nannog swooped though a pine forest following her sharp nose to the sweep of the Pacific Ocean.

She could see the curve of earth where water met sky and smell sweet brine in the freshening breeze. She fell in behind a formation of pelicans, dropping into an elegant lineup skirting the lip of a rearing wave.

One dipped a wing tip into the mirror surface of cresting water. Nannog did the same with her broom. But the ocean knew not the witch. It swallowed her whole then spit out her long, orange braid upon the shore.

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Drabble: Flash fiction in precisely 100 words.
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Two shadows

After I took this shot of an egret, I noticed it was casting two shadows. What does that mean?

My best guess, since the sun is the light source, is that one of these shadows is reflected light. But it's also fun to think one is a ghost or the spirit of the bird aside from its body. Which is the real bird?

As a writer I like to think what that could mean in creating characters. The most complex characters have layers, which might reflect differently, be perceived in alternate ways by other characters and the reader.

I just read an interview, which tied in to this in a way.

From Shelf Awareness interview with Herman Koch, the Dutch author of THE DINNER, a tale told by an unreliable narrator.

"Instead of a character who reveals himself in the course of a narrative, I was thinking of Paul as a man who has something to hide. In the beginning we think that he is just protecting his privacy, and the privacy of his family, but in the end we find out that he has been hiding his "real self" from the reader--like most of us do, I think."

That's pretty interesting to consider when crafting a novel. Do we all have shadow selves? What do you think?

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P.S. I've got a guest post Monday, Nov. 19, from author Laurel Garver about using poetry techniques in fiction writing. Please drop in!

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Another P.S. This is amazing! Agent Sara Megibow is offering a 50-page critique just for commenting on Natalie Bahm's blog (random winner to be picked). The offer is meant to promote sales of THE SECRET UNDERGROUND, an MG novel whose proceeds benefit the family of a sick little boy. It is such a worthy cause and such an opportunity. Please check it out.

The thing about sunsets and something important

We all love a good sunset.

Everybody with a camera or cell phone tries to catch that ephemeral moment.

And I thought I'd share some of mine right now, because things have been sooooooo intense for all of us lately, what with contentious elections and superstorms. So here's to joy and beauty and that sense of wonder a sunset can give.

The sun will come up tomorrow. We can count on that. Unless, of course, you're writing dystopian and have decided to scare the bejeebers out of us. Love you all! We're good here.
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And for those of you who write or are teachers or librarians there is an amazing online auction to raise money to benefit the Red Cross relief effort for people devastated by Sandy. The project is hosted by Kate Messner and the Twitter hashtag is #KidLitCares. Some of the authors, agents, editors putting up critiques, Skype visits, phone chats, books and more are Laurie Halse Anderson, Veronica Roth, Cheryl Klein, Ellen Hopkins, Linda Sue Park, Mo Willems, Jennifer Laughran. Oh, there are so many more. Check it out, put in a bid. Such a good cause.

The sky is everywhere, oh yes

I wouldn't cope well with the crap we all step in from time to time if it weren't for this world giving me stunners like this:

When nature is glorious my spirit soars. I put my feet in the sea, reach for the sky and drag in the air. Have you ever gone flying in your dreams? It feels so right. Like we somehow in daily life forget how natural it is to let go and just be.

And, yes, I titled this post using a phrase that popped in my head but is also the title of a brilliant novel by Jandy Nelson. I'd reviewed it some time ago but never forgot the story of a girl upended by grief at the sudden death of her sister. Here's the unforgettable last line of the first chapter: It's as if someone vacuumed up the horizon while we were looking the other way. I know that empty, lost feeling too well. I think I need to read the book again, to remember how this story, which is also funny and passionate, never forgets the grief but discovers purpose--a place to flourish in this world.

We've all been buried by grief. We've all cowered from our demons or learned to stand up to them. We've all been betrayed by someone we trusted. We've all lost confidence at one time or another. Or, at least, I believe these things are universal.

But there is healing. There is beauty. There is hope.

The sky is everywhere.

Seizing the moment

Several times a year, large, well-shaped waves fire up in Venice Beach. When they do, professional surf photographers show up ready to snap pictures of pros repped by companies selling boards, clothes, etc. Look closely and you'll see there's a guy in the curl of that wave.

It's all about seizing the moment, being ready for opportunity and willing to take a chance, which is useful no matter what you do. My life has been stressed and chaotic of late, so I'm trying to carve out time here and there to write and keep up with all you lovely people.

There is a great quote attributed to Thomas Edison: "Opportunity is missed by most people because it is dressed in overalls and looks like work."

I intend to get out my tools (I have a new book THE PLOT WHISPERER WORKBOOK that will be a lot of work, without doubt, but also may take my rewrite to a new level.) That's what I'm striving for: the big wave.

Lastly, please check out my last post about the release of THE SECRET UNDERGROUND by Natalie Bahm if you haven't and consider buying a copy to help the family of a very sick little boy. Jayden, poor wee thing, is back in the hospital again. Thank you.

The good things

I've had a terrible year as some of you know, but good things have happened, as they do, and I want to do a happy dance for some wonderful moments this summer.

Is this not the happiest little typewriter you ever saw? This bright watercolor surprised me when I opened an envelope with a note from writer/artist Faith Pray at Sacred Dirt, which read in part: "I offer a teeny bit of book swag and a very small painting I did to fuel your writing muse."

And there I was with a smile painted all over my face.

I admit my writing muse has been MIA, most likely due to the stress and grief I've been through, but I hope to keep working around that. In September, I'm attending the SCBWI's working retreat for a few days in LA. Anybody going?
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I've decided to leave this next photo as mysterious to you as it was to me: Easter Island comes to Venice Beach.

 

Not only giant heads but a carnival hit town that weekend. Except hardly anybody was on the rides, which looked time-shifted from the 1970s. It felt like something Ray Bradbury could've turned into a spooky story.
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We had a block party on our walk street, too. Venice Beach has residential streets that are pedestrian-only, with vehicle access in alleys behind homes.

It was fun, chatting, watching kids run about, eating. The food was amazing. I made these strawberries filled with cream cheese (just a tad of vanilla and sugar added) and sprinkled with sliced almonds. Big hit--easy, pretty and like healthy cheesecake.

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I met this colorful, friendly lady who vacations on her yacht in the marina during summer and lives in the desert Southwest other times of the year. Like me, she's had bouts with skin cancer, so she walks with this gorgeous purple parasol.

I love when someone turns an obstacle into a celebration.
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And, look! A guy reading on the beach! Doesn't this make your writerly, readerly hearts flutter?

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I hope everyone had a happy summer. May fall bring us a cornucopia of goodness.

And I have to mention a couple of book releases coming right up:  THE SEVEN TALES OF TRINKET by Shelley Moore Thomas and Natalie Bahm's THE SECRET UNDERGROUND. Two fantastic writers who will make the middle-grade readers in your life happy when you buy these books.

Lost

When are we lost? When we can no longer see our path, find our way?

When we no longer care where our feet lead us?

When our feet don't move at all?

When the contents of our lives become untethered?

A couple of weeks ago I saw a single, filigree earring half-buried in shore sand. I walked on a little way, thinking I should do a post on things lost, so I turned around and went back to photograph the earring. I couldn't find it again. Sometimes things and people are truly lost and stay that way.

But I went looking for lost things again and found some and thought about how melancholy I was feeling. The water-logged spiral notebook in the drowned tote above made me wonder if a writer or student lost their musings and creations to sea and sand. Did the bag fall from a boat, off the pier? (I directed the county harbor crew to it, by the way.)

 I've lost a lot of people this last year and some precious things, including faith in myself at times. It is the nature of life--birth and death, lost and found, doubt and confidence, joy and sorrow. Without the dark would we appreciate the light?

Best voting spot in the world

So, yeah, I voted in my state's primary elections today. I hope your voice is heard, too. As a woman, I respect how much the suffragists/suffragettes actually did suffer to gain this right for me.

My polling place has to be the best. The view out front:

Or if you turn your head:

Our polling place is inside the lifeguard headquarters building. Here's a view taken on a pastel night:

Please don't forget about the auction for HelpBabyJayden. So many good things up for bid--agent and author critiques, signed books, artworks.