Easing Off the Internet

I've called a semi-halt to my chronic FB-twittering-blog-sapping brain drain. I'm back to mornings immersed in story and afternoons of revision. As a result, I'm feeling the threads of stories tighten. I'm more connected to the story arc, and thinking about my characters' wants and needs...and their back stories too. In fact, recently I've started dreaming about my characters again! It's not really surprising. I've got my groove back.

Many believe that authors need to spend their time in an array of self-promotional activities to launch their careers. For me...I am slowly learning the value of focus. There is no depth without it. 

So...back to work. As for my blog, I'm still be peeking in, adding content from time to time, but I'll be keeping a firm grasp on the old saying, 'first things first!' 

May! Short Fiction Month

Finished up a six week poetry study/writer's workshop with my sixth graders last week. Loved every minute of it for a lot of reasons I'll save for my teaching blog. I decided to start a unit on short writing as a follow up. I wanted to sharpen my own writing skills and clear the wreckage of added writing, so I started carrying a small lined notebook around in my bag. All my people-watching is paying off. Every day, I wait for that moment...a character, a setting or an incident that catches my eye. I think it may have been Daniel Pink's website that got me started on this. (Try his 6 word autobiographies!)  I'm writing 50 word pieces, micro-fiction which are really small snapshots...a window on the world.

Turns out the universe was calling me again! Check out today's piece in the Afterword. It's short fiction month! I found it first on Dan Wickett's site, Emerging Writer's Network, with lots of recommendations for good shorts to read. 

My kids in school are loving it! At this time of year, they don't want to hear a word about grammar. They just want to write. So I let them. It helps them get their ideas down, share with others and then go back to their work as never before. They are not as overwhelmed as they were in longer forms of writing. And...I'm sneaking in all kinds of lessons related to crafting varied sentence structures, relating it back to the good old change-up a pitcher uses in baseball. It's about economy, fluency, a quick story arc and precision. Reluctant writers? Not in this format! 

Ira Glass on Storytelling

Check this out! It's worth the twenty or so minutes. Ira Glass speaks at the Gel Conference on personal narrative and how it hooks us inside and out. I love the radio show, This American Life, and was therefore drawn to this site for the purpose of a casual perusal, quick glance at what's happening out there. 

What I found was a very informative, emotional discussion of how storytelling is an inside job.

It's tentacles tend to hook from the very deepest part of us...a true inside job!

If you're like me...a real story junkie, you'll love every minute of it!

Magnolia

A Rumphius Challenge

Last Friday in April! Get outdoors! The whole world's a poem!

Peepers 

emerge,

announce

themselves 

one by

one

building

a consensus

of rhythm 

and night songs.

Daffodils appear 

too

along the hillside,

a startling display

of dazzling yellow,

but magnolia

trumps them

all,

lasting only

a day or two,

she bursts

on the scene

a head full

of pale pink.

A swirl of

wind 

could wisp

her away...and

so 

I'll stop

this day,

and look

and savor,

for soon

that burst

will 

be gone.

My Own Backyard

Yesterday, I left the backyard of my dreams...in a way. Well-manicured, shady in just the right spots, a lazy river and a kind person that brought food or drinks at my beck and call. Well, that's jut not reality, and I know that even I would get bored with that after a while.

So, we packed up, just the two of us and hit the road...cuz heck, we were having way too much fun! We hit the road with our bags and our heads stuffed full of the sounds and sights of  another great time at the beach. 

Traveling with a wheelchair is a huge hassle, so...we put on our patience. I dragged the wheelie monster suitcase, and we rolled that wheelchair homeward. There were bags slung over my back too. I cursed myself for all the stuff I packed (Eight books, all read--and then my sketch book and journal, laptop too.) We put on our armor and got ready to do battle with the airport, on this the weekend that marks the end of spring break. What we found, though, was what we almost always find: the miracle of the stranger...willing to hold the elevator, watch the bags, wait that extra second or even extend a hand when we needed it. It always happens. So...even as we progress in this crazy process called illness, I have to remember not to awfulize, we are not alone. I sometimes tell myself we'll never be able to travel again...well, no. People are happy to help. Well most normal people...that crabby butt guy last night at the airport? Karma, and not me, will bite his butt! Miracles of kindness abound. It is at the core of human nature.

As for me? I'm happy to be back to the rhythm of my unmanicured backyard...where there's sunlight, hawks nesting, daffodils and magnolias in bloom, and a calm I can count on today! The rake will have to wait, though, for at least another day!

Alli-gator Inspires Fear: Paradise Lost

Okay, well...I've been warned. We are living in their ecosystem. But...

all's quiet on the western front, in fact who would imagine anything

was lurking there? 

     Well, today, "Ali" decided to go for a swim in my backyard. But not to worry, I've gotten a lesson in how to run away from an alligator. If it's a girl alligator, she's won't be more than ten feet long. No big deal, right? Wrong!

So...I'm thinking maybe a girl originally from New Jersey, transplanted in Connecticut should be happy with the icky things we have like daddy long legs, wood spiders and itty bitty mice and forget about any plans of relocating to this sunnier locale. It sure is tempting, though, especially after the two million feet of snow I shoveled this past winter. Brother. There is no paradise after all!

What no Vampires?

Rollin' out some garlicky meatballs today, a memory popped into my brain and I found myself in the kitchen laughing away. My BF is used to this. If I'm not talking to myself in there, I'm often laughing...and sometimes singing too. I know, a bad scene. 

But today, I started thinking about those Sherman Avenue Murphys again...you know, my roots. What a street that was! Many small homes, cape style, but Dutch colonials and a few old farmhouse from the days of the apple orchard too. Ours was a cape...very cute, I like to think. My dad was meticulous about it.

The Cucurellos lived in a Dutch colonial down the street. I could sit on my porch and just about inhale the smell of garlic coming from Grandma Cucurello's (Angie) kitchen. It was there that I first tasted the love of my life: pasta! When I'd come home from their house, my dad (aka Archie Bunker) could smell the garlic. "Go right upstairs and change your clothes!" Oh brother. "I didn't come all the way across the ocean to smell that abnormal smell." 

"But Dad!" Well, you know what ensued after that. Archie, I mean DAD, always got his way. Then one day, the Cucurellos invited Mr. I'm-ALL-Irish-ALL-the-TIME to dinner. We were all so excited, we could barely stay glued to our skin! Imagine. Well, he went alright, but not after a WHOLE bunch of dawdling and dilly-dallying...something he'd never allow in me.  

We sat down at the table and they stuck a medium-sized bowl in front of him. The larger bowl of pasta and "gravy" with that wonderful garlic smell was divvied out by Rose Cucurello, the diminutive mom of the household. I could see my dad's expression of fear from the corner of my eye. I feared for the Cucurello household. Big Dan (weighing in at about 350) was in his place, at the head of the table, getting ready to say grace. A few words were mumbled by my not-so-grace-filled Dad under his breath. It was then that Angelina, his partner in prayer (another story), hopped up from the table and grabbed another bowl from the kitchen. This time, it was the butter and pasta for wimps bowl. Archie B. was saved! Boo-hoo!! But...what my dad didn't know was that he needed to pace himself. He fired down the pasta...believe it or not, he'd never even had THAT before! And then came the leg of lamb and all the trimmings! I thought my father was going to die! It was so worth the price of admission, I laugh even now thinking about it.

But that was the end of our garlicky pasta days...in fact, we didn't even have pizza in our house until my dad died. As sad as his death was...there was a silver lining. As he would say, before he was even "cold in the ground," we were concocting all sorts of things in his kitchen.And what did we fire up first on that Irish stove of ours? It wasn't meat and potatoes, that was for darn sure! 'Twas our own bootleg version of Grandma Cucurello's pasta sauce that we'd tried so many times before of course! (Don't tell Dad!)