Tag Archives: photo

Hopefully I Managed To Take My Cover Photo Today

27 Sep

I have been planning to get over to my parents’ house to take some photos in their second bathroom for my poetry collection My Ignored Hamper and other Bathroom Poetry. Lonnie and I got there yesterday and figured out what I was going to need, where we could find it, and because our well pump is still being fixed, I took a shower.

Today I got back over there with a bag of clothes from my youngest sister, a couple toys from my husband’s tool shed, and a can-do attitude.

The first step was to set the scene. That wasn’t hard. I found one of their hampers, a couple dirty towels, by chance coming across a brilliant pair of yellow ducky pajama pants, then took some time artfully making the little scene look artless.

I must have take over two dozen photos, and I am happy with most of them. I have yet to really scrutinize them, but from what I have seen in my two reviews, this could end up being a tough choice. That’s a good thing, I suppose. To be honest, I was hoping that one of them would just leap off the screen and scream “I’m the perfect one! Use me!!!” Nope.

This means I will have to go through them all, eliminating the ones that are not exactly perfect in the hopes of whittling down my candidates. It most likely won’t happen in the next couple of days, though. My weekend seems to have filled up. (When did I get a social life?)

Anyway, I thought you guys would like a sample of my photography session.


From the September 27th photo shoot Sample 1.

From the September 27th photo shoot Sample 2.

From the September 27th photo shoot Sample 3.

Ahhh. They exist now. It’s a nice feeling.

One step closer to actually publishing my little book of poems. 🙂


What do you think?

Do you have a favorite photo, or angle?


I Think Something Is Conspiring Against Me Publishing

24 Sep

The last time I thought I was ready to publish I caught a flu that kept me in bed for ten days, and in the house for almost three weeks.

This time, I have chosen the photo I want for my cover (way better than last time, though, so that’s a plus), and have taken a couple steps toward getting it taken and uploaded to Amazon’s cover creator.

Guess what happened this time?

The pump for our well died.

Yup, we currently have no running water… and I’m a slightly OCD germaphobe.

Let that sink in for a minute.

(We are taking steps to fix it, but it’s like a conspiracy to have to visit every dang hardware store in the region buying one or two things from each. grrr)


The good thing is that the place I have found the perfect bathroom is actually at my parent’s house. So I may kill two birds with one stone and go take a shower, rearrange their bathroom to take my photos, then clean up after myself.


Talk about looking on the bright side. (it’s taking some work, so don’t squash it)

I named the book My Ignored Hamper and other Bathroom Poetry after doing a little research about Google searches (brain melting), and also after one of my favorite poems in this collection. So along with my parent’s bathroom, I will be borrowing some little boy clothes and bath toys from a relative and making the room look like a couple little kids just got done taking a bath.

Hence the having to clean up after myself. lol

In many ways I think it’s good that I have not published yet. It has taken a long time for me to feel that I kind of have my feet under me (hey, I said kind of) with this author/publisher/advertiser/business owner thing. There is still tons of stuff still to learn, but to a reasonable extent, I think I am ready to have a book out there.

Now it’s just the technicalities of figuring out those last hurdles — putting links in the back matter, and then actually uploading. *Gulp*

*            *            *

On another note, I am thinking of cutting my blogging days to three or four days a week. I’m still hashing out which days I would want to publish what, so it’s not like I’m changing anything now. This is just a heads up.

*            *            *

On a third note:

You guys have been great. Seriously. This path toward authorship is a tough one, and you have all taken turns to cheer me up and cheer me on. And I just wanted to take a moment to say Thank You for that. It means a lot to me.  🙂


A cool photo editing accident from way back.

A cool photo editing accident from way back.

Wednesday Stew – A Flash Fiction

17 Sep

This is one of the first tiny stories I wrote. I have been working on a small collection of Steam Punk flash fiction (and just decided to do another one on a zombie theme). This one will be in it.

Let me know what you think. 🙂

Here are some storm clouds to set the mood for you. :D

Here are some storm clouds to set the mood for you. 😀

*            *            *

Wednesday Stew


Andrew splashed through the muddy streets as the rain fell in bucket sized drops around him. All he could think about was his permanent room at the boarding house, and the hearty stew and corn bread Mrs. Lester made on Wednesdays. With his overnight bag thumping against his back with every bound, he leaped over the more treacherous mud holes in the pitted dirt road toward his home away from home.

Getting to the steps he scrubbed his boots good and well before opening the door, and letting the warm, goodness of her cooking envelope him. Life as a Dirigible Captain had its rough parts, but making it to Mrs. Lester’s dining room was the welcome respite at the apex of every week.

Dropping his bag beside the bench in the entry hall, and hanging his dripping coat and hat on the hooks above it Andrew was very thankful that he had one of the few steady routes. It took two days to take supplies and passengers from Spelling, Connecticut to Tellana, Georgia, and two days back again. If things went smoothly. If they didn’t…well, then he dealt with things, and made it to his midweek lodgings to find a small cast iron pot of stew with a crust of cornbread over the top sitting in the oven. The meat and vegetables may change every week, but the mouth watering aroma, and the made with love attention to taste did not.

“Is that Mr. Anderson I hear stomping about out there?” Called his hostess.

“It is, Mrs. Lester. I made it back for your good cookin’.”

“Sweet talker.” She chided, but he could hear the smile in her voice before he made it through the sitting room and into the dining room to see it on her face. She had set the huge pot on the trivet next to her seat, and was waiting for him with her arms wide for a hug. Andrew wrapped his arms around her and lifted her slightly off her feet, inhaling the wonderful smell of cinnamon and soap that clung to the plump old woman.

“You should get a wife. Then you wouldn’t be so eager for my poor fare.”

Setting her back on the floor, he grinned and said, “If I could find a girl who cooked as well as you, I would marry her on the spot.”

She waggled a finger at him. “Careful, one of these days a young lady might think you’re serious with that offer.”

“I am!” Putting a hand to his heart and striking a poets pose, he proclaimed, “Beauty fades, charm is fleeting. But a woman who can cook? She’s a woman worth keeping.”

Mrs. Lester gave his arm a playful slap. “Sit down. I don’t want you to have to eat cold food.”

Andrew chose his regular seat, and a maid came out of the kitchen with a fresh plate of biscuits, and a bowl, spoon and cup for him.

While pouring himself a glass of lemonade he exchanged small pleasantries with the six random passers-by who were seated around the table, all a little taken aback by the sudden change in their stoic hostess. Bustling around, she came and filled his bowl to almost overflowing, then went back to every other guest and asked if they would like a little more. “You’ll want to top off if you even might have a little room for more. Mr. Anderson here, could eat an entire pot of this on his own. So, just make sure you put away your fair share before he finishes it all off.”

Andrew chuckled, and split open a corn biscuit and slathered it with soft yellow butter. Biting into it, he sighed as the sweetness of the corn meal blended with the sharp saltiness of the creamy butter. After finishing it off with six bites, he dove head first into the long awaited bowl of stew. It took a few moments, but he began to realize that there was something different about this week’s batch. When he finally came up for air, about half way through the bowl, he asked, “Mrs. Lester, what did you do differently?”

“To what, dear?”

“To the stew? There’s something different.”

“Oh, it’s just the usual in-dey-go Wednesday stew.”

“Well whatever you did, I like it.”

“That’s good. Now eat the rest before it gets cold.”

Giving a mock salute with his spoon, he said, “Yes, Ma’am.”

The other occupants of the room seemed a little bemused, but after seeing how quickly Andrew had put away that bowl of food, they each in turn asked for those seconds they had been too prim to accept.

It took three bowls of stew and five biscuits of satisfy his hunger. With a hand on his belly, and a smile on his face, he congratulated Mrs. Lester on surpassing herself.

“Well, thank you, honey, but I didn’t cook it.”

Confusion flickered across his face. “If you didn’t…”

“’Tilda, sugar, could you come out here for a moment?”

As the maid once again entered the room, Andrew stood to his feet. Crossing to her side, he asked, “Did you cook dinner?”

Shyly the petite, brown haired, brown eyed Matilda nodded her head. “Yes, sir, I did.”

“What’s your full name and age?”

“Matilda Jane Ashcroft, I turned 19 last week.”

“Nineteen. That’s a good age. Do you do anything besides cook?”

“Oh, yes. Mrs. Lester has been training me to do all sorts of things around this old place. And Mama already made sure I can sew, knit, mend, clean, cook, garden. Just last month we canned the fruit preserves from our…”

“And you cooked this delicious dinner.”

Looking into his eyes with a hint of puzzlement in her own, she said, “Yes, sir, we already established that fact.”

Chuckling he said, “Yes, we did. Miss Ashcroft, is your Daddy still alive?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Because I believe I have a question to ask him in the morning.” Picking up her hand he kissed the palm. Turning to Mrs. Lester he said, “You, Madam, are one smart woman. You have bested a confirmed bachelor. Congratulations.”

Mrs. Lester just sat there and chuckled.

*            *            *

😀 What did you think?


We Meet Again, Blog Commitment

17 Aug

Jessica makes me giggle. We may not be even on the same side of the planet, but there are times she writes like I think (yes, inside my head).
Plus, I just couldn’t pass up the photo (and quote) from Keeping Up Appearances. 🙂

Out Of Time? and I’ve Made Progress!

11 Jul

Victoria's Driftwood Wall Clock

Here the nights come.

There the days go.

Years whip by fast.

Moments seem so slow.

Grab each minute.

Make it count.

Your time doesn’t come

From an endless fount.


It’s strange. I can sit in front of a blank screen and sometimes a poem just comes to me, rarely do I have to struggle to find another rhyming word.

Other times I may as well be blowing soap bubbles with as much poetry as comes to mind.

As usual, this one just popped out. Like it or not. If not, wait a few days, you may like the next one that comes to mind. 🙂


At the end of another day.

I was able to add another 3 1/2 pages to my current WIP.  😀

I would give you an excerpt (yes I am that happy with it), except that the more I think about it, the more it seems I am benefiting from the fascination of having a project that is super secret. In some ways I am even in the dark. I had thought the plot was pretty well laid out in my head, but today my main male character decided to take matters into his own hands and totally threw things off for me. Now I seem to just be along for the ride. 🙂

Hopefully I will be able to keep up with this writing pace. It seems to really help with the creative process to be sure to stay uber excited about what you are going to write next. Right now, though, my hands are still tired from the hour and 15 minutes it took me to write those pages. It’s a good tired, though. It makes me smile and remember my accomplishment.

Wishing you luck with your dreams.

– Rose D’Andrea



At The Sunset Of My Life

17 Jun

This photo goes with the poem At The Sunset Of My Life

At the sunset of my life I want to be able to say I did those things.

I spread my wings.

I tried new things.


At the gloaming of my life I want to be able to say I wrote that book.

Life gave, I took.

No second look.


At the twilight of my life I want to be able to say I lived my life.

I went through strife

With a drum and fife.


At the midnight of my life I want to be able to say I fought and battled.

My sabre rattled.

No road less traveled.


I Love Playing On Swings (And How It Translates Into My Writing Life)

15 Jun
Huh...You can see me taking a photo of me in the shadow of me. ;)

Huh…You can see me taking a photo of me in this shadow of me. 😉

I love to swing on swings. Always have. Hopefully always will.

There is something so freeing about flying through the air, with the wind in your hair, and the sun shining down of you. It’s lovely.

It kind of made me think, though. In swinging you have ups and you have downs.

Much of life has ups and downs. Good and bad. Easy and hard. Fun and boring.

Let’s talk about the fun and boring part.

Fun stuff is…well, fun.  Boring stuff…is self explanatory.

And they are both relative.

Where I would be bored almost to tears sitting in a financial planning seminar, someone else could be totally jazzed about the potential of applying it to their life, or business.

And where I consider it fun to sit around all day reading old romance novels and drinking tea, others would find it mind-meltingly dull.


But that’s not where I really wanted to take this post.

Where I wanted to go is: I think I may be something of a ‘muse’ writer. And right now, my muse is very silent.  Not cool.

Talk about ups and downs? This is a down in my writing.

It doesn’t help that my computer is in the living room, the main thorough-fare for the house. It’s pretty hard to really get into what you’re working on when you’re 10′ from the front door, the dogs want out and in again, people want to know what you’re working on (grrr), and all you can think about is the state of your kitchen (which is sitting two rooms behind you. Staring at the back of your head).

Perhaps this season of my life is learning self-control?

Learning how to say “Please don’t bother me. I just finally got comfortable and have actually written 5 sentences that don’t suck.”

Learning to ignore the kitchen’s accusing stare, and making myself actually schedule dish washing times.

Learning to write when the muse isn’t forcing me to jot something down.

Maybe it’s a season of learning instead. Huh.

?        ?        ?

Are you in a season of learning?

Have you learned something about yourself recently that could be a helpful lesson for the rest of the class?

P.S. there isn’t another room for me to put my computer. The router is in here, and my WiFi thingy is broken on this poor old thing, so it’s in the living room so I can have internet. Can’t take it outside, either. The battery is shot. It must be plugged in while it’s on, or it won’t be on for more that five minutes. :/  Yeah, replacing the writer’s computer is one of the first 10 things we’re going to do when one of our projects comes through for us.

*sigh* Until then… Patience is being drilled into me. lol

At least I can go swinging when it gets to be too much! 😀

I may be a grown-up, but that doesn't mean I can't occasionally act like a kid.  :)

I may be a grown-up, but that doesn’t mean I can’t occasionally act like a kid. 🙂