Junk Drawers and Memory Boxes

It's January. Time to clean out the junk drawer. You know what I mean.  It's that drawer in every house no matter how big or small where we throw all the things we accumulate during the year that we don't know what to do with or are too busy to put in its rightful place. Some of us have several junk drawers scattered throughout the house.  We manage to get that close to actually putting something where it belongs and then get distracted and into the junk drawer it goes.

Today I tackled the junk drawer in the den.  I took a deep breath and opened the drawer to really look at all the stuff I had thrown in there over the past year.  To help with organization, I sat down to sort through the mess with a trash can and a box to put those things in that I just couldn't bear to part with - a memory box.

I tackled the easy things first:  an airline ticket stub, a half eaten candy bar, a Christmas card with a misspelled name, a broken paper clip, scraps of messages long since delivered or forgotten.  These things went right to the trash can without a second thought.

Next came the greeting cards with simple "I love you" messages scrawled in childish hand from my grandchildren.  There was a silly love note from my husband that made me smile. A candid shot of family members at the beach, and another snapshot of a trip to Alaska caused me to stop and smile in remembrance of a happy time or a shared smile.  These things had no real value except for the pleasant memory they evoked. They went into the memory box.

I saved the hard part for last.  There was a small box filled with trinkets that reminded me of my mother, worthless artifacts of a life no more except that my mother had treasured them.  As I touched each one, I felt as if I were touching her.  There were newspaper clippings and other remembrances of friends and relatives who had passed. These would have to go in a special place.

I spent about an hour cleaning out a drawer that should have taken much less time, but each item there caused me to reflect on the past year. There had been happy times and bittersweet times mixed with a few sad times.  But we had survived and thrived as a family. I looked down at the empty drawer.  This time next year, the drawer would be full again and I would clean it out, throwing away the trash and keeping the memories.  

Time to get started.

Blue Christmas

I live in Southern California just a few miles from the site of the San Bernardino shooting that took the lives of 14 innocent people.  The news coverage of the shooting has blanketed the headlines in large print, overshadowing all other events.  It hits you like a cold slap in the face. “How can this happen?” you ask yourself.

This is the time of year for peace and goodwill. This is the celebration of light and love. And yet tragedy happens. For many the approaching holiday does not bring with it the joy and happiness that is advertised on television or in greeting cards.  The tragedy in San Bernardino brings home to us the fact that even during this time of joy and renewal, people are suffering loss and sadness. They may be facing a holiday after the death of a loved one or after a divorce.  Perhaps they have been unable to have a child, or have suffered through an emotional trauma.  Or perhaps they feel pressured and overwhelmed by holiday preparations. For them, the holiday is the most difficult time of the year.

Who doesn’t remember the sad strains of Elvis’s “Blue Christmas”?  For many of us, the song is a melancholy reminder of those who are gone or must face the holiday far from home or loved ones.  Most of us collect memories around holidays and seasons. For those who have experienced loss or hardship, there is a sense of absence during this time of year.  The memories are still there, but the human beings are missing or the rituals have changed.

Across the country churches and houses of worship are starting to recognize the need for Blue Christmas services.  These are sometimes called the Longest Night services because they tend to be held around the time of the winter solstice with the least amount of daylight of the year. On this night, we remember those for whom the holidays are not joyful; they are lonely, in mourning, feeling alienated and cast apart from family celebrations.  They are experiencing depression and sadness and yet are often compelled to “put on a happy face” for others, denying their true feelings. On the surface, they go through the motions.  They put on a smile and pretend all is well.  They may even attend a holiday party, but their heart is not in it. 

These services provide an uplifting experience to remind us of the love we had for those who are no longer with us. They also provide a time to show support for those who are grieving or just a time to escape the stress and commercialization of the holiday. It’s a way to celebrate quietly with a focus on light and warmth and comfort.  Such services are reflective, accepting where we really are, and holding out healing and hope.  They remind us that even though it is a dark and difficult time, there is always light.

I urge you to remember those for whom this holiday is not a joyful time and reach out to them with hope and understanding.  Be the candle that helps to light their way out of the darkness.

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Carousels and Roller Coasters

Remember your first visit to an amusement park?  If you were like most of us, your eyes were drawn to the bright lights and colors. You were enticed and entranced by the overly sweet smell of cotton candy mixed with the saltiness of popcorn. And the sounds!  The lilting music of the carousel and the rattle of the roller coaster overhead. All of this mingled with the sound of laughter and the squeals of fright and delight. 

Where did you begin? Were you drawn to the brightly colored horses on the carousel, suspended in time and motion? They seemed to be moving in time to the music, but in reality, they just kept going in circles.  Parents were always nearby to protect you from falling and soothe your fears. It appeared very predictable and safe.

Or were you drawn to the excitement and thrill of the roller coaster?  It lulled you into complacency on the steep climb to the top and then plunged you into the frightening unknown. There were no parents to protect you through the jerks and bumps or the sharp twists and turns.  You had to hang on tight and face your fears until you finally screeched to a stop safely back where you started. Then your momentary fear was quickly forgotten and you couldn't wait to start the journey all over again.

I like to think of this as a metaphor for the paths we choose in life. However, sometimes those choices are taken out of our hands. One may prefer the safe predictability of the carousel, and then suddenly find himself or herself on a roller coaster of unpredictability.  Life is like that. Our tendency is to turn and run back to the safety and security of the past. But the way back is blocked. There is no turning back. The key to our success in this new endeavor lies in whether we are able to change and cope with this sudden change in our circumstances. Those who cling to the safety of the past will find it difficult to adjust.  They will be miserable. Those who let go and make the effort to adapt to the change and face their fears are more likely to persevere and overcome their fears.

This is the predicament in which I place my characters.  They must navigate their way through life and deal with unexpected hardships as well as changes in social and political mores. They experience the extreme highs and lows of life.  Their struggles reflect those most common in life:  relationships, prejudice, financial security. But most of all, the characters must struggle with their own moral dilemmas. They must adapt or perish. 

Do the characters choose the path of righteousness or the path of least resistance? What motivates their choices? Do we respect or condemn them for their choices?  These are the questions only the readers can answer. And in so doing they will reveal a bit more about the values and morals that affect their own choices in life.

Virtual Hugs

I laid my head on the side of the bed next to her.  She was finally quiet.  Maybe I could catch a few minutes of sleep. I had just closed my eyes when I felt her hand on my cheek.  Her touch was soft and gentle...a caress. Mother was never one to demonstrate soft emotions. She was always strong and stoic. She seemed uncomfortable with a hug or a kiss.  But this was definitely a caress.  I opened my eyes and stared into eyes filled with sadness and remorse.  No words passed between us.  But I knew.  And she knew.  I kissed the translucent skin of her fingertips and she closed her eyes.  In a few minutes the screaming would start again, but in this moment, I understood and I was at peace.

Now that she's gone, I cling to that final memory.  It is my solace, my hug when the world is weighing too heavily on my shoulders. And I feel comforted.  In these times, when families are fractured and scattered, I am thankful for the technology that makes them all feel closer and more immediate.  I can reach out in seconds across the miles and send a "virtual hug" to those who need it. It's not as good as the real thing, of course, but it sends the same message:  "I care about you.  You will get through this.  Everything will be alright."

The human touch is a marvelous thing.  It requires no words. Its warmth and protectiveness penetrates the sadness and the stress and gives us strength.  We must seize those moments when we are together to touch each other with love and reassurance so that when we're apart, we can find comfort in the memory of that moment. Sometimes just the reminder of a virtual hug is all we need to experience anew the warmth and support of the actual touch.  I hope so.

So today, whether you think you need it or not, I'm sending a virtual hug to all my family and friends. May you feel the warmth of my love and support across the miles wherever you are and know that you are not alone.  I am with you.  I will always be with you.

The Importance of Place

Some time ago, I wrote a piece about the importance of the setting in a story.  I decided to revisit the topic since so much of what we appreciate as readers is the ability to get lost in the story...as if we were there on the scene with the characters. Thanks to today's technology, we no longer rely solely on the dialogue to move the story.  Many scenes have no dialogue at all...just a character standing alone on a long stretch of empty beach while the sun sets on the horizon and the waves lap at his feet.

The setting is not just a backdrop for the action, it is a living, breathing character...as real as the characters who converse and participate in the action. While the characters breathe life into the story, the setting breathes energy into the story and moves the action forward. While the characters provide motivation for the action, the setting provides mood and intensity. It is what makes us feel that we are there. It activates our senses.

It is so much easier to imagine ourselves standing on the beach next to the character, if we can actually smell the salt air and feel the wind in our hair. And once we stand next to our character, we understand why he is there and what he is feeling without the addition of unnecessary comment from the author telling us these things.

A full rich setting that appeals to our senses and connects to our memories provides dimension to the story. It makes the action jump off the page and it drags us, whether we like it or not, into the story itself. We not only care about what happens, we also experience it along with the character.

In Windborne, I wanted the reader to experience the extremes of Kansas weather to understand the hardships the women faced that were beyond their control. In The Stone House Legacy, the reader must feel the isolation and neglect of the stone house to understand it's legacy. As I write the second book in this trilogy, I am trying to capture a different vibe.

Every large city has a heartbeat that beats to the pulse of its people. Cities have their own majesty just as the mountains do. There is a power there that cannot be denied.  Throughout time, men have tried to conquer and own the cities, but they have succeeded only is leaving behind a small reminder that they were briefly there.

Just as mankind has helped to shape the cities, the cities have shaped mankind. They leave their mark on who we become as individuals. They remind us of where we began. They encourage our successes and scoff at our defeats.

This is the feeling I hope to capture in the pages of The Steel Canyon Legacy. My characters must not only overcome the obstacles life places in their way, but they must do it in the belly of the beast, so to speak...they must coexist with the city and use its power to their advantage.

Literary Risk-Taking

Being a writer means that you put yourself out there bare-naked for everyone to see. You put your feelings and beliefs on display for anyone to take a shot at. Whether you write fantasy, mystery, romance, or historical fiction, you will always find those who take issue with what you say.  And this is a good thing!

Good writing should be thought-provoking. It should generate discussions and ideas. I'm sure that there were those who took issue with the themes presented in Harper Lee's To Kill a Mockingbird when it first came out. However, the novel has been a staple for high school literature students for many years, and continues to inspire those who seek a better understanding of the prejudices that still color our perceptions of the world we live in.

Writers who never take risks, who always present a safe, albeit idealist view of the world,  may find some success among those seeking escape from the imperfections of the real world. And I admit that I have enjoyed an occasional escape myself.  But the writing that stays with me...that continues to haunt my thoughts...is the writing that makes me think differently about the world or questions my perceptions and beliefs.

I knew that tackling the sticky topics of religion and politics during the turbulent 1960's in The Stone House Legacy was risky. Many of us who grew up and lived through the times still have vivid memories of what it was like. Our memories are colored by our personal experiences causing us to react differently to the events in retrospect. My intent was not to present the world as it was, but to show the impact of the times on characters, who like the majority of Americans, were on the fringes of the action.

Just as the country struggled to find its way during this turbulent time, the story is filled with unsavory characters with ambiguous motives and confusing politics. It's difficult to tell the good guys from the bad guys.  There is, however, a simple voice of reason underlying all the confusion. It is the voice of Tessa who emerges as a glimmer of hope for the future.  

Watch for her in Book 2 of the trilogy, The Steel Canyon Legacy, as she comes into her own.

A Pity Pot for Procrastinators

Okay, I admit it.  I've been procrastinating.  I have a plot outline for Book II of the Legacy Trilogy, a character map, and a notebook full of interesting descriptions for the setting.  I've even drafted out a couple of chapters. I have a research trip to Chicago scheduled this fall to make sure my setting is accurately depicted. But I just can't get motivated to write.

I can think of a myriad of excuses that you've all heard before - not feeling well, too busy, blah...blah...blah...But the bottom line is that I'm just not motivated. I wouldn't even say it's due to writer's block (whatever that is).  I wake up at 4:00 with my head full of ideas and conversations for my characters.  I just can't make myself get to the computer to begin writing. Maybe I need to take a break.  After all, I've cranked out two novels in three years. That's pretty good isn't it?  The truth is, it's just downright laziness.

Sometimes I get overwhelmed by the small things and find that it's easier to procrastinate than get to work on the details that are holding me back.  I need to update my blog page and reach out to other bloggers, update my marketing plan and email list, explore the idea of a video trailer, and on and on. When I retired from education in 2012, I swore that I would no longer be tied to someone else's deadlines.  That's why I elected to self-publish. I wanted to be my own boss. 

In the beginning I was excited to finally be able to pursue my own interests and do what I really loved, but I admit that the new has worn off.  While I still love to write and believe that I have stories to tell that others would like to read, it's beginning to feel like work again. And so I procrastinate.

I tell myself that I deserve some free time, but then I don't know what to do with it. I wonder through the house looking for distractions that will keep me away from the computer. It sits on my desk amid all my notes and stares back at me with it large accusing eye. I feel guilty.

I tell myself, it doesn't really matter. Oprah and Ellen will probably never call me for an interview. Hollywood is not knocking down my door to make a blockbuster movie out of one of my novels. But the truth is, it matters to me. I have always wanted to write. I knew it took time and sacrifice...anything worthwhile does. More than anything, I wanted my writing to be my legacy to my children and grandchildren. I can't leave them a fortune in real estate or stocks and bonds, but I can leave them the gift of experience and the wisdom I have gained over a lifetime. This is really what I hope to convey to those who read my work...a glimpse into the patterns of behavior that shape who we are as human beings. 

Soooo...when I think of it that way, it's almost selfish of me to sit here on my pity pot and avoid the work I feel I was called to do.  

It's time to get busy.