I just returned from a writer’s conference, and something our presenter said has been running circles in my brain.
Category Archives: Writing
Soon a Memory
Lovingly cultivated
In tropical climes
Holiday decoration sublime.
Tended with care
Protected from cold
Everything right, I’m told.
Leaves keep dropping
Bracts look wan
Now the festivities are gone.
Fading foliage
Scarlet to blush
Herald to ultimate hush.
Tempest
When I meet your stormy glare, I shudder.
Blue skies darkened by muddy cumulonimbus.
Was it something I said?
Regardless,
Who can be sunny forever?
That faint twitch in your lip,
Feet cemented to the floor.
Can’t you talk without your hands?
Clues.
Careless words better left unsaid.
A book takes flight,
A door slams tight.
Then, stony silence.
All right.
Good riddance.
One isn’t always the loneliest number, you know.
One Last Goodbye
You’re in pain,
And I’m sorry.
I didn’t cause it,
Can’t absolve it.
I hate seeing you hurting.
Hate watching, helpless,
as you close off from the world
and those who need you.
Hate seeing the spark he so loved
seep right out from your soul.
Just know that I’m here
When you’re ready to talk
Or need a shoulder to cry on.
To reminisce over happier times
And sunny days.
How his eyes crinkled
When he told a joke.
How safe you felt
Wrapped in his strong arms.
How right it seemed
Spooning together through the night.
I know your house cries empty tears now.
If it’s any comfort, I miss him, too.
Note: When I wrote this, I was thinking of an older lady/friend of mine, who lost her beloved husband to cancer last year. Sometimes even our best intentions fall short, and all we can do is be there, when of course we’d prefer making it all better!
No Regrets
You didn’t mean it, I know,
But knowledge doesn’t salve the wound.
Nor understanding ease the hurt.
You made a promise —
Gave me your word.
Then reneged, without so much as a solitary regret.
Leaving me to hold down the fort.
Tie up loose ends.
Survive.
So don’t think you can come back on special occasions
Like the holidays
And everything will be as it was before.
Because I’ve moved on.
I’m stronger, braver,
And refuse to allow toxic people access to me.
No regrets, no looking back,
What’s done can’t be undone.
Mercifully, no one dies from betrayal.
Love in the Afternoon
Note: I don’t usually write poetry. This one came to me out of nowhere (after reading it, you’ll probably say I should’ve left it there!). But we’re all friends, right? So I’m open to criticism, suggestions, comments. Here goes:
He’d never believed in Love at First Sight.
Until now.
Right. This. Moment.
She cruised in, looking far more captivating
than anyone had a right to do on a Tuesday afternoon.
Wearing a black-as-midnight dress,
Silver shoes,
A come-hither look in her eyes.
And when the lights found her, she glowed.
Summoning courage, he made his way toward her.
Head uplifted, heart pounding, shoulders squared.
Would he be enough man for her?
“Sorry, pal. She’s taken.”
Stricken, he gaped at the killjoy dousing his flaming desire.
Then he saw the sign affixed to her rear window —
Sold.
And his heart fell.
Pantser vs. Plotter
“Writing a book is a horrible, exhausting struggle, like a long bout of some painful illness. One would never undertake such a thing if one were not driven on by some demon whom one can neither resist nor understand.”
—George Orwell
If you’re a writer, do you fall into the Pantser or the Plotter camp?
Many of us are combinations of the two, but lately, I’m wishing I was more of a Plotter. And I’m kicking myself for spending FAR too much time writing out of the foxhole I unwittingly dug so long ago.
NaNoWriMo Time Again
Today, writers across the globe begin the grueling challenge of NaNoWriMo.
National Novel Writing Month is a 30-day period set aside for writers (and wannabes) to complete a 50,000-word novel. There’s a LOT of hoopla surrounding it — pep talks, guides to success, tweets, blogs.
Too bad. Once again, I won’t be joining them.
This year, my problem is TIME (or rather, the lack of it).
Here a Debbie, There a Debbie
Not long ago, my new friend Beth Ann wrote about the latest offerings from the Tennessee company which makes Little Debbie snacks.
And I just had to cringe.
Little Debbie?
Sheesh, you’d think a company that’s been in business since the Great Depression would have selected a cooler name than “Little Debbie,” wouldn’t you?
The Value(?) of Book Reviews
“Open confession is good for the soul.” — Scottish proverb.
I’m embarrassed to admit this, but I hate writing book reviews.
There, I said it.
Musings by an ND Domer's Mom 