From Left to Write: Sparkle Words Shine in Ruby

"Use your Sparkle Words!"

Flashing back to my son's first grade classroom, I easily hear his teacher rallying her students to include descriptive adjectives into their writing.  As they were six years old, those words often consisted of a favorite color from an eight pack box of Crayolas;  or the words a lot, very, many, great, or cool.  As simplistic as those words are, even several years later, I still think of those or any descriptions as Sparkle Words.

Clearly, those lettered images grow as kidlets' vocabularies increase.  And by the time words are whipped into published story, hopefully those stitched together letters and phrases paint pictures for readers to see into the writer's world.

Cynthia Bond transports her reader, creating magic with her Sparkle Words, in her debut novel, Ruby.  The imagery her words paint firmly embeds a reader into time, place, sight, sound, and smell.

My eyes sucked in the opening of Bond's tale, telling of a mad woman, but it was only the second paragraph that grabbed and pasted me stuck like a winged creature on a permanent fly paper pit stop.  Bond uses her version of Sparkle Words to tell us of Ruby Bell.

Eyes read those words, just as I was taught at three, moving from left to right across the page.  But, once was not enough.  And I still did not have enough, even reading it five, six, seven times.  Due to its subject matter, the book is not one my kidlets are ready for, but I knew those words in the second paragraph - the ones that would not let me go - are the perfect sample of where I hope they learn to grow their own versions of Sparkle Words, so I read it to them.  And even still, it was not enough.

It took me at least a day before I was able to move beyond just the second grouping of sentences.  And the very last set of words from that second grouping held so tightly to my breath, I fell asleep several nights watching them parade across my closed eyelids.

Fortunately, Bond continued to share her rich and layered imagery for my eyes to greedily suck in the hundreds more paragraphs in her tale.

I hope your world is adorned with Sparkle Words - words you hear, words you read, words you write, words you speak.

This post was inspired by the novel, Ruby, by Cynthia Bond, a gripping story about overcoming our past and embracing love in a racially charged rural 1950s Texas.  Join From Left to Write on May 8th, as we discuss Ruby.  As a member, I received a copy of the book for review purposes.

My Writing Process

Writing stories, since I was a kid, was just something I did.  Then, I had kids, life took over, and I read stories to my children, rather than write my own.

Three years ago, Mandy, from In Mandyland, inspired me get back to my writing, even if she didn’t know it at the time.  Though, I’ve told her since that it was her own creative writing she shared online that made me want to move some of the characters parading through my head back onto paper…or my laptop.  Her writing brings her characters to life, always making me feel as if I’m in the room with them while curled up with the book that writes of their tale.

So, when she asked me to participate in a Writing Process Blog Tour, of course I said yes!

What am I working on?

If you’ve swung by here in the last year, you may know that my muse decided to take an extended vacation – an unapproved, extended vacation.  With or without my favorite muse, I have continued to write, albeit mostly offline, rather than on.  Thankfully, I'm beginning to see sparks of mojo returning.

I have focused more closely on editing the beginnings of two novels and slowly adding to them, in an attempt to get back on track.  And there is a microfiction/photography project that I have been toying with for a while now and am finally beginning to work on.

How does my work differ from others of its genre?

Honestly?  I’m not a fan of labels.  I think the minute we use them, we remove our ability to try or see something new.

And since what I’m working on currently dances in four different “genres,” I’m glad I don’t subscribe to them.  I understand how quickly and easily we human beings want to slap a label on something and make it easy to define, but personally, I really don’t want to live in a world where we only look at the surface.  For me, life is rather boring that way.

Why do I write what I do?

I grew up moving.  A lot.  And in each new state, town, school and/or workplace, new friendships were formed.  Through those encounters, I watched and learned about relationships in a way that I don’t believe I would have if I had grown up within the same community all my life (though, if I had, I’m sure I would have learned a lot as well, just from an entirely different perspective).  Consequently, a lot of what I write looks at the bonds of friendships and the individuals that create them.

How does your writing process work?

It’s the call of a character parading through my head that leads my fingers to tap a keyboard.  That is inevitably where I begin writing a story, whether that is the actual beginning, middle, or end of the tale itself. 

I suppose that makes me somewhat of a pantser in terms of just sitting down and writing.  Though, I am finally caving and know I need to embrace outlining to help me get past the walls I’ve hit with those two novels.

And fortunately, I’ve even learned how to write when the kidlets are immersed in their own activities three feet from me.  Though, editing amongst chaos does not work for me and for that, my brain needs quiet space to twist the words and hear the characters on the pages in front of me.  Because, really, just how many voices can my poor brain hear all at once?

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Next Monday, the Writing Process Blog Tour moves on to four writers I’ve connected with through both ends of the word loving spectrum - an online writing community (Write on Edge) and an online book club (From Left to Write):

Shelton Keys Dunning is the author of paranormal mystery novels The Trouble with Henry and Hagatha Kittridge Must Die, along with several short stories and the blogs Expressions of Talking Leaves on blogger, and The Scribe, The Quill, and the Secret Notebook on Tumblr.

Eva Greene Wilson is the editor and owner of SocaMom.com, an award winning website for Caribbean parents.  She has also written and published the children’s book, Anancy’s Family Reunion.

Shannon Morgan is an editor and a food and travel writer working on her first novel.  Visit her blog at Shannon Morgan Creative.

Jessica Claire Haney is a writer and mother of two who is working on her first novel. She blogs at Crunchy-Chewy Mama and has two essays published in the recent anthology, Have Milk, Will Travel: Adventures in Breastfeeding. 

From Left to Write: Hope's Dream

Young, elementary school kidlets stepping up to the podium, taking the microphone in hand, sharing their dreams for their classes' I Have a Dream presentation carved a niche in me.  They spoke from their hearts and touched mine.

Thinking on my response to reading Prayers for the Stolen by Jennifer Clement with From Left to Write this month, those speeches bubbled up.  This is a bit different than my typical post, but where both the book and those children's words took me.

Hope’s Dream

Martin Luther King, Jr. -
Ideas cut through the air, rolling across hundreds of thousands.
Orated ideals, shuttled forward through decades to come;
Words chauffeured through time, but not all lands.

“I have a dream…”
Children speak their own whispered hearts.
Trees for forests, healed and healthy parents, worlds without war -
They have a dream.
Breathing environments, cornflower blue skies, crystal streams channeling dirt-
They have a dream.
Kids free of fear, shining seas, feathered and furry friends left to roam free -
They have a dream.

Dozens of children hope for the wider world around them.
One child hopes for a world he came from, a world he knew.
A future holding more,
A future lacking less,
A future without dirt floors,
A future without empty bellies,
A future with hope.
He has a dream.

This post was inspired by the novel Prayers for the Stolen by Jennifer Clement.  Ladydi grew up in rural Mexico, where being a girl is a dangerous thing.  She and other girls were "made ugly" to protect them from drug traffickers and criminal groups.  Join From Left to Write on February 18 as we discuss Prayers for the Stolen.  As a member, I received a copy of the book for review purposes.  Opinions and response are my own.

She Came, She Wrote, She Won!

My sweet girl was itching to write for NaNoWriMo again this year with their Young Writers Program, after trying it for the first time last year.  Even when her Mama didn't write along with her (yes, I bailed...but, I worked diligently on my cheer leading skills!), she kept whipping her words into shape.

Last year, she worked with a special purple mechanical pencil and her Hello Kitty notebook, marking her words down by hand.  This year, she put the computer keyboarding skills she's learning in school to use and typed her NaNo.  As touch typing is a new skill still being honed, it was a little slower going.  But, she is one determined kidlet and didn't let a challenge stop her.

Today, she passed her word count goal and verified on the site, making her a WINNER!!!

We are so proud she kicks her goals' backside and is already talking about jumping back into NaNo next year!

Wanted: Missing Muse

My muse up and disappeared.  I thought she was simply escaping on a rather marvelous vacation.  I was, in fact, quite envious.  But now, I'm beginning to worry she developed a terminal illness and expired...and I'm trembling with fright at that disastrous prospect. 

 

November 1st is rapidly approaching, aka NaNoWriMo launch day, making that missing muse even more of a problem than it has been through the last year.

 

The previous two years, I click clacked my way across my keyboard for NaNoWriMo and last year, my wee girl got her NaNo on for the first time, jumping on board with great gusto.  She loved it so much, she wants to write again this year...and she wants the other half of her Mother-Daughter Team click clacking while she puts a special purple pencil to her Hello Kitty notebook.  With said muse missing, in distress, or chained face down in a river somewhere, I'm madly sending out search parties for her in hopes of joining my li'l girl for NaNo and thousands of words of my own.

 

The clock is counting down and at this point, I would happily accept a wayward muse or even a drunken, wandering muse who hiccups with greater enthusiasm than the hoped for whispering inspirations.

 

Send help.  I'm going to need it.

YWP NaNoWriMo { She's a Winner! }

November 1st began with squeals of delight from my sweet young girl as she found her Hello Kitty notebook and new pencils waiting for her to begin her very first NaNoWriMo through the Young Writer's Program.

 

For the first week, she couldn't wait to write everyday.  On school days, she got busy on her homework just to be free to put her pencil to paper and whittle her story, A Girl Who Lived on an Island Alone.  On the weekends, she often wrote before I even got up.

 

The second week held just as much excitement as the first.  By the third week?  She hit a speed bump and lost some interest.  I wavered between encouraging her to keep at it and not wanting to take away any of her joy in writing.  In early elementary school years, personally, I think it is more important to keep kidlets excited about telling stories than it is to drill in a daily writing habit.

 

And with the end of November rapidly approaching, she began writing again.  A secret smile plays on my lips when I see her smile as she writes her tales.

 

Today is November 30th and my sweet li'l girl entered her story to verify and validate and...

WIN!!!!

 

 

She won her very first NaNoWriMo and I sincerely hope there are more writing experiences we can share still to come.  And every time she grabs her special NaNo Hello Kitty notebook throughout this coming year, I'll be wearing my secret smile.

 



Six Words { Write }

Write today.
Write tomorrow.
Write away.

 

~ Check out SMITH for more Six Words. ~
~ Today is the first day of NaNoWriMo! ~

YWP NaNoWriMo

There once was a wee girl who whittled words across the pages of any notebook she could lay her hands on.  When her mother click clacked across a keyboard, she ran for her own pages to wind words around whatever story that whittled itself through her imagination.

 

As her mother began thinking about what story she would write come this year's NaNoWriMo, this wee girl madly wrote her own adventure.  And her mother entertained the idea that flickered in front of her as she watched her daughter write her tale.

 

Could this wee girl join her mother for NaNoWriMo this year?

Yes!  She can and that's exactly what this wee girl, my wee girl, is going to do on Thursday!

 

She is using the Young Writer's Program (YWP) from NaNoWriMo.  And while she's not doing this with her class or anyone in her school, she's going to write her words while I write mine.

 

While working in her YWP workbook for elementary school age kidlets, she turned to me with such excitement in her eyes.  "Can I do NaNoWriMo next year too?" She gushed with pure excitement bubbling over.  And of course, I told her, "Yes! You can do NaNoWriMo every year for the rest of your life, if you want."  Two beats of silence and my wee girl with golden pig tails bounced up and down, "I can??!! Yahoooooooooooo!!!!"

 

So. Unbelievably. Awesome. 

 

We're still picking a word count goal for her.  The last story she wrote, taking a little over an hour or so to write, almost met the high end word count for her age.  So we're going to pick something a little higher in order for it to be something to write towards over the month.  But obviously don't want to make it so high, it's unachievable.  An achievable challenge is the goal.

Thursday, November 1st - the first day of NaNo, my wee girl will wake up to a fresh new notebook with a special pink mechanical pencil tied off in a bow waiting for her words to fill the pages.

 

Tick. Tock.  It's almost here!

NaNoWriMo 2012

It's that time of year again.  No, not the witchy-warlock, sugar induced day we're creeping up on.  Though, come Wednesday, there will be a li'l witch, a grave ghoul, a grown man in a scary mask named Uncle Charlie, and a woman with a pointy witch hat donned for Halloween.  But, it's the day after, November 1st, that I'm talking about.

 

It's NaNoWriMo time again!

Come Thursday, I'll be click clacking the keyboard down the ol' wordy bunny trail.  I followed the trail part of the way last year and am looking forward to what I find along the way this year.

 

If your not familiar with NaNo, simply put, it's a whole lotta people from around the globe, all writing a new fictional novel with a frenzy, attempting to write their way towards 50,000 words in 30 days.

 

Last year, I 'pantsed' NaNo - started writing with merely a brief, vague idea of a story.  I swore I would be a 'plotter' this year and outline what I want to write ahead of time.  And while I've been working out some story ideas, I'm still short of an outline.  Truthfully, I'm still short of a decision about which story idea I actually want to write.  I have three I'm darting between.  All three are different genres.  But, come November 1st, there will either be family drama, a consciousness transfer, or a woman running for her life.

 

Have you ever whipped words together for NaNoWriMo in years past?  Are you participating this year?  If your writing, do you know what words you'll be wicking together?

Six Words

 

Sun shinning,
leaves turning,
weather's not.

 

 

 

~ Check out SMITH for more Six Words. ~

Six Words

 

Weekend delights

bring bright

Monday

 pauses.

 

 

 

~ Check out SMITH for more Six Words. ~

She Knows

She knows she’s being watched.  He’s always there, feigning indifference while fully aware of every twitch her body makes. He stalks her.  He hunts her.  He waits until he’s allowed to kill her.

He’s thirty feet to her two o’clock, but looking would give him reason to act.  That’s the last thing she wants.  So she alternates between reading the book she picked up in the terminal and staring out the large panes of glass at luggage being unloaded from an airplane. She knows the best way to save herself is to appear like everything is normal.

To look normal, she stays on schedule.  The schedule that she keeps on her phone and computers has been hacked into.  She’s sure of it.  Even on the rare occasion she manages to slip her tail, he always shows back up again at her next scheduled location.

By nature, she is a planner; laying everything out in painstaking detail, entering it all into her computer’s calendar.  She can’t just run on a whim with no idea where to go, no money, and worst of all, no plan for this new future.

But, she will run.  She has to.  First, she makes plans, all in her head this time, how to successfully get away, survive or at least not die some horrible death only made worse by her obscenely active imagination.  An imagination that has made her successful in life, she's now sure will kill her before he gets the chance to.

“Flight 1183, San Francisco to Chicago now boarding First Class.  Please present your boarding pass to our attendant at the gate.”

It’s her flight. Sliding her book into her bag, she pulls out her boarding pass, rising from the black padded row of seats.  She casually strolls - counting breaths in her head to help keep her pace steady – making her way towards the gate.

He mirrors her, closing the gap to twenty feet.  She keeps her body angled so she can still see him in her peripheral vision.  Without her book or the planes to stare at, she feels naked.

Normal. Normal! Normally, I would be on my phone before boarding.  With that thought, she pulls her out phone, tapping in a quick text to her friend.

* About to board. Will call u after landing. C u soon! *

Times up.  Business Class is called and she has no choice now.  Walking across institutional charcoal carpet, she hands the attendant her boarding pass.  She inhales as deeply as she can without appearing to need it.  Exhaling, she turns her back, walking towards her plane where she will be trapped for the next four hours, 35,000 feet in the air…with him.

It's been a long time since I shared a piece of fiction here.  I've jumped in with a prompt from Write on Edge...of course.  We had 450 words to write a story that takes place in an airport terminal.  I'm at 450 on the nose with a fiction piece that's a little different for me.  Hope you enjoy it.

Thawing out from a blog freeze!

Saying that time is zipping by faster than a speeding bullet might be true, but leaves me to lay in a heaping pile o' cliches. So, I'm just going to leave that pile and start fresh.

After an extended blogging break, I'm trying to make my way back. Something that I started participating in last year that I was surprised to find great enjoyment in was Microfiction Mondays. And while that original meme is no longer, I'm going to hop back in here with a photo I took a few months ago and a wee bit o' microfiction.

I know we're all running towards summer in this hemisphere right now, but since my writing went into deep freeze for a bit, this seemed a fitting way to jump back in. Hope you like it!

 

Wicking icy webs over the window pane, enclosing their still breathing bodies in an icy tomb; they’re left listening to silence screech each aching moment by.

 

Life has been really good here - just crazy busy!  Where's life taking you these days?

December 31st

Sitting at the only table left out – the rest had been cleared for the party - was the silver coifed woman.  Her wooden chair, at the corner table, faced the bar’s interior, including the front door.  Eyes wandering, they never failed to stop briefly at the glass door with each meandering sweep.

Singing out from speakers on either side of the stage was what young people today considered music, though she didn’t.  Tonight, she was glad her advancing years had taken half her hearing.  Only two more hours to wait; if he didn’t show, she’d be back again next New Year’s Eve.

All those years ago, when her raven hair tumbled from her head till it bounced upon her shoulders, her indigo eyes were clear, and her ears never missed a pin drop, they’d had a wickedly wild affair.  She had never known a love could be as intense as its lust, until him.

He was a trademark tall, dark, and handsome.  He was smooth, charming, and utterly lovely.  Filling their days with the excitement of parties, the quiet of arm in arm strolls around the park, and all the murmurings of long nights in bed.

And he couldn’t stay, he’d said.  He had to go; he couldn’t explain why.  He told her wanted out, but was in too deep.  Logic screamed at her that whatever he was into couldn’t be good.  Intuitively, she knew he wouldn’t bring harm to her.

Forty years had passed since they parted.  They agreed to meet again, if he could get out.  He promised her, if he could, he would meet her at this bar, on New Year’s Eve.  So, Betty came.  December 31^st of every year, for the last forty years; she came, sat, and waited.

Anticipation filled the first five years of waiting.  Her eyes would never leave the entrance.  She eventually met a man she could love; she even married him.  Loving her husband, building a life with him brought her metered joy as they grew older together.  But, she never stopped coming to wait for her soul mate.

Midnight rang with its usual clamor.  The excitement in the room, conversely matched her own disappointment.  Rising, she shuffled her way out, struggling to stay on her feet amidst the hugging and kissing and jumping and dancing from the partiers.  Her waiter found her; offering her his arm, he escorted her out.

On the street, the night’s excitement was still pinging through the air.  With a heavy sigh, the weight that nearly buries her the last days of each year dissipates into the chilled night air.  Looking back through the bar’s glass door one more time, she says good-bye.

Come this new year’s December 31^st though, the silver coifed woman will be waiting in the bar, at her table, hoping for her heart to come back home.

This week, Write on Edge pulled a prompt out of the Red Writing Hood vault from The Red Dress Club days.  We were to pick four random numbers, 1-10, which would give us our character, setting, time, and situation.

Looking for the first four numbers I saw in my twitter stream, I chose, 7, 3, 1, 7 for an elderly woman, a party, winter, and reminiscing how things change.

It's official.  My muse is still not with me.  I'm not giving in though and attempting to write it out without said muse.

Typically, I hear the stories and characters chattering away in my head and I write from there.  But, there's something about a new year that shuts down those voices and immerses me in color, shapes, and textures, taking creativity in a different, more visual and tactile direction.  I suppose the real challenge is finding a way to intersect these two paths.  I'll keep working on it!

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Red Writing Hood - Waiting

Sitting between a woman in a suit and a man in sweats, holding his lunch in a crinkly plastic bag, she waited to be called.  The head of sandy hair in front of her belonged to a man, tapping out a rhythm on his book.  Several people looked his way, but his rhythm never faltered.

One at a time our names were called.  After a few quick questions, answers that were never quite as quick, the Judge either told them to sit, stay, or go on their merry way.

Young woman, after young woman exited; they were all excused from serving.  Whispers circulated; Tapping Man slowed his beat when the Judge spoke up.

“They’re all college students, in the middle of their semesters.  This case is a capital offense and expected to last at least five months, which would delay their ability to graduate by an entire year, creating undue hardship.  So, ‘no’, I’m not just excusing pretty young women.”  Chuckling, he returned his eyes to his list and the next person on it.

Tapping Man’s rhythm picked right back up, but the beats shifted more erratically.  The process of waiting to find out if she has to serve seemed more tiresome than actual jury service.  If selected, would they call her yet again when another eighteen months pass?

Silence was suddenly startling; it was Tapping Man’s turn.  Three abrupt pounds to his book signaled he was asked to stay.  Sitting, his rhythm resumed fiercely.

The institutional room was still quite full.  Tapping Man’s drumming was so incessant, she began pairing notes to it in her head while she waited.  She always waited; not many people had last names that came after Zavattoni.

Waiting might as well be taken as a middle name.  She was waiting, always waiting; waiting to take her path, waiting for her family’s path drenched in tradition to take her, waiting.

Eyeing her wrist’s new tattoo, she heard Tapping Man’s staccato end to his beats.  The Judge had reached the ‘T’s and had as many people as the lawyers needed for this round of jury selection.  Abruptly, they were excused.

Reaching the door to leave, the clerk recognized her, “Computer sure does like you.  Guess we’ll see you in another eighteen months, huh?”

Adrianna returned the clerk’s impish smile.  But, she was done waiting.  Walking out the door, she was sure she would not be back.

My fiction muse has been on vacation, it would seem.  Not quite sure she's back, but like Adrianna, I don't want to wait anymore.  When I realized the last bit of fiction I shared was at the beginning of December, I decided to just write.  Maybe she'll see me waving flags filled with color - begging her to return! lol

In the meantime, I've jumped back in with Write on Edge's prompt this week to use music to inspire a character or move a storyline.  It didn't need to be any specific piece of music, so I ran with the beat of Tapping Man's drumming fingers here. Does it work?

Adrianna is part of a close friendship of four kindred spirits and this takes place in the week after Loose Spring.



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Plane, Train, Automobile, or Armchair

Is your soul filled with wanderlust?  Are you most content at home?  Do you travel the world?  Do local experiences give you what you need?  Does your mind do the wandering for you, across photos, books, websites, stories read and heard?

Me?  I'm not a big traveller, though I did journey out of the area more before having kidlets.  I married a homebody who is quite content to enjoy the nest.  And while we (or I) still take some jaunts around California, traveling isn't something we're partaking a whole lot in right now.

Thankfully, my Four Musketeers and especially my brother, like to travel and fill my head with their out of area adventures.  Wanderlust and my brother are very well acquainted with each other.  Sometime back I shared just a bit from his summer trek up to Mt. Everest Base Camp and if I can convince him to let me, I'd love to share some of his other travels across the continents.

In the meantime, in addition to the well travelled loved ones in my life, guess where I've turned to, filling my eyes with magical locales and destinations?  If you said that place where many of us just can't stop clicking 'See More Pins' one more time, Pinterest, you hit the mark.

I keep two boards primarily geared towards this new armchair travelling:  Dreamy Destinations and Favorite Places and Spaces.  The first are places that peak my interest or are simply beautiful; the second, are places or approximations of spaces I've been.

These boards actually began as something else entirely.  They began as visual inspiration to use when I write, fiction and/or memoir.  Having a photograph to spark a memory or as a jumping point for a scene can put an entirely different spin on words click clacked out across the keyboard.

And now?  I use my boards for both writing inspiration and the ever fabulous, entirely inexpensive armchair travelling.  One of these days, I'll get to some of the destinations on my list, but in the meantime, just one more reason to read tales in exotic locales, wander the web, listen to friends' adventures, and keep pinning!

When Julia travels to Burma to search for her missing lawyer father, she discovers much more than she expected. Join From Left to Write on February 1 and read posts inspired by the book,  The Art of Hearing Heartbeats by Jan-Philipp Sendker.


As a member of From Left to Write, I received a copy of the book. All opinions are my own.

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RemembeRED: Title & Tagline

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On the Move

After living on two coasts, in four states, twelve towns, sixteen abodes, standing still, she regained her momentum.

Our memoir prompt at Write on Edge is "to come up with a title and tagline that captures your life, or a moment from your life."

Easy peasy, right?  Yeah, that's what I would have thought since microfiction and I are such fine friends.

But, micro memoir that's boiled down to a title & a tagline?  Not so much!  I wrote about a dozen or so, but this is the one I'm running with.

Color Wash

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Turning onto the main drag we look for a place to park without great success.  Cars accessorized with different states’ plates, packed full of travelers gear, line both sides of the narrow lane.  Just as we reach the street’s far west end, we find a small space to slide our car into.

We step up onto the crumbling concrete sidewalk, his hand opened wide, inviting my own.  Grabbing it, we walk the familiar path eastward.  The sky, donning its morning slate cardigan hovers above us.  Salted air skims our skin; I drag it in deeply, filling my lungs with its pleasantly peaceful scent.

Trinket, tchotchke, souvenir shops with windows filled wave for our attention, but our eyes dial in our target up the small incline.  One step in front of the other, stepping aside for groups walking back down – some returning to their cars, some to the bluffs, some to take their cooped up pup for a walk – like a folk dance, native to this small spec of a town.

Without a word exchanged, we step into the first of our routine stops.  Pretty jewelry, nice paintings, some woodwork we stop to examine and the fat cat that’s always in the back gets a chin scratch.

Cross the street, up the white stairs, local artists’ work and one to chat with as we find a perfectly personal present to tuck away.

A few doors down, canvases steal our breath – our eyes fooled, rather than paint we see strokes of light.  Jokes about the necessity of kids’ college funds routinely punctuate the visit.  And with one last look we return to the crumbling sidewalk.

Pausing for a seafood lunch with a view we can see now that the coastal sky has shed her morning cardigan.  We chat, we eat, we agree that nothing we’ve seen sparks us both, yet.  Paying the overpriced tourist trap bill we readily signed up for, we walk up a block off the main drag.  No sidewalks, just road.  There are a handful more stops to make to make the day’s gallery walk complete.

We leisurely stroll back to the car.  Not a painting in hand, but the hours’ zen color washed across us.  It’s a favorite hue, bookmarked for our annual visit.  Carrying it with us, one town north, we step into the next color waiting to paint our day, staining our memories…hopefully, permanently.

2012 has put The Creative back in the driver's seat - but, so far that has been via journaling; (different for me) scrapbooking; inking, painting, doodling in my art journal; trying new GFCF recipes; and lots of photo editing.

The Creative, however, had not joined me in the word pool until I found a little { Magic } in a Ronald Dahl quote, earlier this week.  So, I'm tickled pink to finally be responding to a Write on Edge prompt this year!

The prompt is to write a piece, fiction or creative non-fiction, 400 words or less, sparked by "Flavor."  Whether that be a taste, spice, or the quality or character found in something is up to us.

This began as a fictional piece, but it's so colored by memory it definitely falls into the creative non-fiction category.  Can you feel the flavor of the memory?

{ MAGIC }

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Source: madiillustration.blogspot.com via Karen on Pinterest

~ Ronald Dahl

Magic bits of our days carry a key for me.  That key unlocks all those little bits and pieces, small moments that make me smile.

Laughter floating through air, a leaf coasting upon it.

Sun shinning through a spider's night shift masterpiece.

Felines stretched long; furry bellies soaking up sun.

Painted toes, never seen beneath a warm winter shoe.

Fresh crayon boxes, filled with pointy rainbows.

Overflowing tubs of broken crayons; hand pressed stories in every break.

Rain water's curbside travels, breaking at each tiny pebble in its path.

So thankful to believe in the magic.

What about you?

Happy to be linking up with Bits of Bee today on her meme hosting maiden voyage!  I have always been driven by, inspired by, made better by taking in the words of others.  I've had quote journals, walls covered in quotes written on post-its, and now, thanks to Pinterest, a Letters Word Type Talk board celebrating words themselves.

And a meme dedicated to that very thing I love?  Perfect.


I found the above image on Pinterest and via that, have had an opportunity to check out the rest of the artist's site.  Definitely go see Madi Illustration for yourself!

2011 One Little Word Wrap-Up

For the last two years, I've chosen One Little Word to guide me for the year.  As a fan of Ali Edwards, her thoughts on the effects of choosing just one word, resonated with me.  And so I began the process in the last days of 2009, choosing 'Live' for 2010 and 'Grow' for 2011.

As I began reflecting on this last year, I pleasantly discovered that I had accomplished several of my goals and did indeed, Grow in many ways.  Sharing some of the ways I've grown on here at Time Crafted, seems only appropriate since so many of you have given me both inspiration and support.

I began the year taking Ali Edwards' year long One Little Word workshop at Big Picture Classes.  And while it was great to see Andi, Siri, and other familiar, friendly faces, I mostly worked on this offline.

She's repeating the workshop for 2012 and I'm leaning towards signing up again.  It definitely helped me keep 'Grow' close at heart throughout the year.

One night on Twitter, @thienkim urged me to check out The Sketchbook Challenge.  Her enthusiasm was infectious and I was excited to create along.

Creating an art journal always seemed intimidating to me.  It might sound silly, but many creative bloggers and artists I visit, have mad crazy talent and I fretted about not measuring up...until I realized that the goal isn't to 'measure up', but rather to grow, try new things, learn new skills, and improve on what I already do.  So, I did.

After reading the creative writing goodness that Mandy weaves with her words, I wanted to get back into my own creative writing.  I missed it and knew that it had been far too long since I swam with crazy colored words.

I decided to start small and began with a microfiction meme.  It's the shortest of short fiction, written in 140 characters or less, including spaces & punctuation.  Turns out, microfiction is a whole mess o' fun!

Looking at where Mandy was sharing her fiction with, I headed over to The Red Dress Club, which is now Write on Edge, a virtual writing community.

I began writing and sharing my fiction with their Red Writing Hood prompts, as well as some memoir with their RemembeRED prompts.

And then I got brave.  In November, a group of writers within the Write on Edge community participated in NaNoWriMo and I joined in.

I didn't hit the word count, but I'm okay with my results.  If you want to know what I thought was so cool about the whole process, check out my really short post: NaNoWriMo in 8 Sentences.

When Bruna, @beeswithhoney, said she wanted to feature me on her Let's BEE Friends series, I was tickled pink.  And when Sarah, @MamaRiceCake, asked me to write a positive guest post for her, I went Dancing with Rainbows.  Mandy asked me to guest post on Makes Fun and I wrote the low down on The Little Red Bear.

And speaking of writing, one more area I wanted to grow was right here on the blog.  In this case, I wanted to literally grow...more posts, that is.  I didn't set a goal or a specific number to hit; simply that I wanted to post more than I had last year.  And with this post, I'm coming in with 51 more posts than in 2010.  Grow Goal, accomplished.

I spent most of 2010 knowing that I needed wanted needed to upgrade my Point & Shoot camera.  I had squeezed out every ounce I could from it and was itching for a DSLR.  In February last year, it was time to take the leap.  I bought a Nikon D3100 and while I'm still learning how the heck to use it in manual, photography is something I've grown to love since beginning this blogging journey.

2011 became the year of the virtual Book Clubs, starting with Andrea (a sweet Book Fairy) leading one on the SITS Girls site, which is now over on her site Great Thoughts. She selects great books and we wrap our reads up with fun monthly Twitter parties, tweeting with the books' authors, using the hashtag #Gr8Books.  You should join us!

This fall, @thienkim asked me to be a From Left to Write Contributor.  What's wonderfully unique about this book club is that we write posts inspired by the books we read.  As a result I was able to share Who Will Tell Your Story?, as well as a favorite artist of ours, Michel LeRoux.  Another unique bit is that the book selection here really varies, widening my viewpoints, and hopefully, others' too.

This was a looong post, I know.  If you're still here, give yourself a pat on the back, a taste of Nutella, a cuppa java, or an ice cold martini.  Thanks for hanging in there!

The One Little Word, Grow, has taken me on quite a journey this year!  How about you?  Do you chose just one little word to hold near your heart, to guide you, to focus you in your year ahead? 

 

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