Tag Archives: write

One Day I Will Go From A Writing Zero To My Own Business Hero

1 Oct

Sans Peur

Means ‘Without Fear’.

It’s the motto of the Sutherland Clan.

They’re also the words that start bouncing from corner to corner of my computer screen when I leave it alone for too long.

Without Fear.

If only.


The strange thing is, I’m not afraid of failing. I have failed before, stalled out, made mistakes, blundered about in a couple new ventures only to have things fizzle out as I realize it’s not for me.

I’m not afraid of success, either. We have people and plans picked out for when we have money to spend, invest, and pay taxes on.

I think I am honest to goodness afraid of the in between. That strange patch of ground that stretches from dusting myself off from the last try, over to that big house with a lovely office decorated just the way I want it. That place where I have to actually jump off the diving board and into the unknown world of another beginning.

How many authors pause in the act of pushing the publish button for the first time?

How often do they have to have their husbands, sisters, or cats actually kick that anvil off the cliff? It’s just so hard when we fear that there’s somehow a rope tied from it to an ankle.

The impatience at yourself for playing with all those what-ifs.

The highs of “Could I be the next Mark Twain?”, and the lows of “No one is going to ever buy my stuff. I’ll have to write thirty books before my husband will be able to retire.”

(Is there such a thing as author bi-polar?)

Nothing in my life is so emotionally draining as the contemplation of all the blood, sweat and tears it is going to take to get this career off the ground.


Oh, well. That’s just me having a pity party.


One of these days I am going to have a few books on the market, have a little money coming in from them, and feel a bit silly when I think of all the stressing I did over this.

Until then, I think this may be my new theme song:



Blood Suckers

25 Sep

ReGi McClain has agreed to write a guest post for my little blog! Yay!
To show you why I think she’s cool enough to write something for us to read, I give you this very short story. I giggled when I read it the first time, and again after looking it up tonight.

Enjoy! 😀

ReGi McClain

Eezzz surveyed the young. Mothers shamed by the birth of sons ushered the boys away. Eezz made a mental note to personally give her condolences to each of them later. Males were, after all, necessary to produce more females, like it or not. When all the males were gone, she spread her wings and flew into the air.


Every female within hearing distance snapped to attention. Eezz smiled down on them. A swell of pride filled her. As the longest surviving of all females, she recognized greatness when she saw it. These ones, she thought, they are all survivors. They will all fulfill their destinies. But they needed instruction. And inspiration.


The girls roared lustily, the hizz of their voices startling nearby prey.

Eezz let the excitement of the moment boil its way through their exoskeletons and settle into expectant silence before she went on.

“Today you…

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Daydreaming: A Key to Creativity

13 Sep

I came across this video while searching for a certain music video for a past post. It got me to thinking. I would like you to watch it, then we can discuss it.




So basically what Jonah Lehrer is saying is that the mind comes up with creative things better and faster when we let it do a little wandering. There is a need for daydreaming, following that trail of what-ifs, just staring out the window watching the birds on the feeder.

If this is the case, what are some ways we can relax our brains so they can bring up our more imaginative ideas?

Jonah mentions taking walks, daydreaming, and staring out train windows. Are there other ways we can let our minds wander?

  • How about that lovely zen-ed out couple minutes while you wash your hair. (although for me it’s more than a couple minutes, since my hair is waist length.)
  • Listening to the rain.
  • Relaxing to your favorite music.
  • Those few moments when you are on the edge of sleep.
  • Thinking of nothing in particular while sitting in your recliner.
  • Just staring across the room at a random object.

This last one helped me write a piece of flash fiction (a story that’s, I believe, under 2,000 words long). I was trying to come up with an idea, but nothing was happening. I set my chin into my hand and stared across the room at a pile of random papers. Peeking out from the pile was part of a stage coach, that got me thinking about the wild west. Well, what is one of the best known stage coaches in modern advertising? TheWells Fargo’s logo. Now I am thinking of a bank in the old west. From there I thought about a steam punk outfit my husband and I had discussed making for me. Now I’m thinking of a woman, in a Victorian steam punk outfit in a bank in the old west. Now what could bring about some kind of problem in a bank. Duh, a gun. How would we introduce a gun into the situation?

Well, why don’t you read it for yourself?


A Misunderstanding at the Bank

She walked into the one and only bank in all of New Wells, Colorado, head held high, shoulders back. Walking like a woman in a new dress, which she was. A high necked number in burgundy, with a black leather waist coat, and black and white patent leather ankle boots. In her right hand she held a brown valise. It seemed to be a little heavy for her comfort, but she was darned if she was going to let it show on her face.

The lady in the new dress walked expediently up to the teller on the left, and set her bag on the counter to the right of the clerk’s window. The clerk, a skittish man in his mid thirties, was always afraid when a woman approached his window. They were either confused as to what they wanted, or had a tendency to try and bluster or wheedle more out of him than he should extend. Either way, women made him nervous.

This one really made him sweat. She seemed to have been sewn into that red dress, and her manor of walking told him that here was a woman who was used to being in control of situations. Since he was rarely in control, this type of person made him feel twitchy.

“Hello, Mister…” She glanced at the little pin on his shirt, “Popskie. My name is Miss Delia Anne Walters, and I would like to open an account here today.”

Taking his kerchief out of his pocket and swiping it over his upper lip, he replied, “Very well, Miss Walters. How much would you be putting into your new account?”

With a satisfied smile, she opened her valise, and began digging through its contents. “I have $300.” After a few moments the smile started to fade into mild frustration. “It was on top a few minutes ago.” Now the innards of the bag were being pulled out and placed in a neat line along her side of the counter. A bottle of perfume, smelling salts, a compact, a paper bag which smelled of peppermint, and there were a few more things, but Mr. Popskie’s vision narrowed to include only one of her items. A brand new, fully charged lightning pistol.

While she was busy grumbling into the seemingly bottomless pit that was her bag, he quietly reached a hand beneath his register and pressed the alarm. Without taking his eyes off her gun, he reached into his vest pocket and retrieved his kerchief.

Miss Walters, on the other hand, finally got hold of her envelope of crisp new twenty dollar bills. Pulling her head and right arm out of her bag, she waved it in front of herself triumphantly. “Ha ha! It thought it could hide!”

Turning her attention now to putting her varied objects back into her bag. She did not see the sheriff and two of his deputies walk quietly in the front door. She thought everything was going to go smoothly, until she picked up her little pistol and was about to put it back in with its travel mates. That’s when the Sheriff said, “Stop right there, Miss.”

Looking around in confusion, she turned to see two powder rifles, and a large lightning pistol aimed straight at her own self.

“Lower your weapon, and step away from Popskie.”

“Lower my…?”

“Put your weapon down, Miss, and no one will get hurt.”

“I was just…”

“Well now you are going to drop it on the floor, and kick it to me.”

“Why on Earth would I drop this perfectly good, brand new pistol on the floor? Don’t you know that’s a terrible thing to do to a gun? Not to mention that it might go off.” Shaking her head, she turned back around and dropped it back into her bag. Swiping her envelope of cash off the counter, she also put that into her bag. Closing it with a snap and a huff, she pulled it off the little ledge, and marched straight for the door.

“Of all the hair-brained things.” Giving the door a shove, she walked straight through, and headed for the train station.

Mr. Popskie sighed and sagged against his desk. With shaking hands he wiped the beads of sweat off his face. “Thank you, Sheri…” Catching the look in the Sheriff’s eyes he didn’t have the nerve to finish.

“Popskie, did she SAY she was going to rob the bank?”

Giving his head a shake, he replied, “N, no.”

“Did she hand you a note that implied such an intention?”

Again, shaking his head, Mr. Popskie had to answer no.

“Then why did you press the alarm?”

Pointing to the counter before the Sheriff, he said, “She, she…”

“Had a gun.” The Sheriff shook his head. Rubbing a sudden pain above his left eye, he said in exasperated accents, “Mr. Popskie, this is Colorado. It is quite possible that YOU are the only person in this entire state who does not own a gun of one kind or another. And would you two quit snickering back there?! For the love of…Mr. Popskie, I really think you ought to move back east.”


*            *            *

What are some ways you zone out to find creative inspiration?

And, if it’s not too much to ask, what did you think of my little story?



Could My Writing Ever Be Good Enough To Inspire Songs?

15 Aug

Yeah, I know. It’s a strange topic.

But, here I am, asking the question.

(Really, I’m not trying to come across as pretentious or egotistical.)

It’s mostly because I have this song stuck in my head:



That song got me to wondering if any of my poetry, or eventual novels will end up inspiring someone out there to write a song about the idea behind it.

Could I possibly become a good enough poet that my last name alone would carry weight in literary circles (like Byron, Shakespeare and so many others).

Would it be slightly possible that my works could eventually be nodded to in sculpture and paintings, referenced in school books as someone to study?

This is a pretty hefty line of what if’s…but seriously, what if?

*            *            *

Do you want to see some other songs that were inspired by books and poetry?

Check out this article: 10 Songs Inspired by Books

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What kinds of questions and what-if scenarios (concerning your work/art) run through your brain?

Do you play with the idea, or do you immediately slap it down as an impossibility or flight of fancy?


The Pain of Hunger

24 Jul

That gnawing need,

A painful rumble;

I just heard

My stomach grumble.

Food, I need

As you may guess.

An empty system

Makes me write less.


Soooooo hungry!


Good thing my Mr. Wonderful is cooking, then, huh?


Silly me has only had tea over the last several hours.

Silly me has only had tea over the last several hours.














*            *            *

I’m thinking of writing a short story to portion out over next week while I’m helping out at a friend’s church for VBS (vacation Bible school). Any thoughts as to what I should write about?

I’m serious, I have nothing in mind yet, so a good suggestion could very well be acted upon.

(A small note here: Please only G rated topics. I have several followers who enjoy reading this blog with their little ones near by. I would like to keep it that way. Thank you.)

*            *            *

Want to read more of my poetry? Click Here.


The Circle of Words, Among Other Things

23 Jul
From the Before to the After of a fit of inspired writing.

From the Before to the After, a fit of inspired writing.


Roiling and boiling these thoughts bubble deep.

While tossing and turning they occupy my sleep.

This is nothing new

I have no other view

Twisting and spinning they build new worlds.

An artificial life, my mind unfurls.

My mind stews

Waiting for cues

I can no longer contain the words

They fall out in one long surge

Thoughts glow

Words flow

My mind, left spent and reeling

Has a peculiar empty feeling

Perhaps a snack

And then a nap




Roiling and boiling these thoughts bubble deep…


*            *            *


Today felt more like a Sunday than a Monday.  After a morning spent surfing Facebook and Twitter, fiddling around but accomplishing nothing solid, I decided to try this speech to text program again.  For some odd reason it’s working much better today.  My fingers are crossed that this new trend will continue.


As you can see I managed to be creative today.  Along with this poem I have also crafted a little piece of flash fiction.  Steam punk flash fiction to be exact.  I did not realize that mini-stories could be so much fun to write!


Going back to the subject of Sunday, we went and saw the new movie REDS 2.  I would highly recommend it to anyone who likes shoot-em-ups but cannot stand blood and gore.  I’m kind of hoping for a third movie.  Did I say kind of? I meant really.


*the mic thumps, and the speakers squeak*

Do we have any steam punk fans in the audience tonight?


For those of you who saw REDS 2 what are your thoughts?



Playing With My Computer, A Wild Adventure

20 Jul

At least for me it is.

I’m not too sure how adventurous or interesting you will find it.


I turned on my computer’s speech-to-text program this afternoon. Lonnie found me a mic that hangs from my ear. I went back through the tutorial, and ventured forth into a grand new world of verbal freedom. Or so I thought.

Nearly every sentence needs edited in at least two places. The dratted program doesn’t automatically capitalize the beginning of a sentence if it has quotation marks first. Half the long words (6 or more letters) get broken into smaller ones that sound sort of like my intended choice.

I am being told that in a week or two it should be zeroed in for my voice and speech pattern, but that kind of defeats the purpose. I turned the program on so that I could still work on these projects while I have an incapacitated hand. By the time the speech-to-text is finally working right, the wrist should be healed, and I won’t need it anymore.

Yet another lesson in patience.

I should learn it one of these days. Maybe after that life won’t have so many obnoxious speed bumps.

Who am I kidding?

One of my favorite movie lines is from The Princess Bride when Inigo says “I hate waiting.”


Because, you guessed it, I hate waiting.

*            *            *


*            *            *

On a lighter note, my husband discovered several Steam Punk magazines that are open to submissions of flash fiction. So, today (right after he told me) I sat down and told the computer a story. Then had to edit the snot out of it because it was totally messed up. I have a very nice post London Blitz what-if scenario flash story. Six hundred and fifty words (last time I checked).

I think I’ll get the submission details and fire it off as soon as possible. That way I won’t have time to play my own what-if game and psych myself out of sending it.

I got a little ways into a zombie flash before my honey set a plate of lasagna in front of me. Hopefully that one will be finished some time tomorrow.

If all goes reasonably well I’m considering making it a point to write a Steam Punk flash fiction piece a week. If nothing else it will give me more practice at finishing a writing project. Heh. *Looks guiltily around the room* Not that I have trouble with that or anything.

*            *            *

Have you ever sent something in to a magazine (e-zines included)?

Did they publish it? What happened?


What kind of results do you get out of any speech-to-text programs you use?


The World Is Blurry

10 Jul

Ladies and Gentlemen!

I can’t come up with a poem without very specific inspiration.

I know. I just tried.

That’s the title up there…alone and lonely.

My world is currently blurry. My eyes are fried after staring at the computer all day. I’m proud of myself though. I got almost everything caught up and done.


I have started reading a book titled Writing In Overdrive: Write Faster, Write Freely, Write Brilliantly, by Jim Denney.

I haven’t even read half of it, and I have already figured out why my muse is silent about I Killed Them, Mama. I need the wrap up to go faster. As it currently stands the whole second half of the book could easily be summed up into the last chapter.

And I need something…else, something more to happen before the, er, wrap up chapter.

I don’t have it figured out, but at least I know what the problem is and can now address it. 🙂

I was also able to sit down for a full hour and turn my half page of a new book into three and a half pages. I then read it aloud to my husband and got a good response. He even laughed at something I hadn’t realized was funny until he reacted. 🙂

So, all in all it was a pretty good day.

Besides having to skip a posting on the other blog. Something to play catch-up on tomorrow. Except that tomorrow is pretty much full of family…hmmm. My life is getting complicated.

I already got up before my alarm this morning, and did not get my customary nap, so staying up late to get the other blog up to date is out of the question. I will just have to find time on Wednesday or Thursday to make it happen. The world will not spin off it’s axis. California will not fall off into the sea. I will survive.




Or will I???


But I Will Not Cry For You

7 Jul

You raise my hopes

To watch my face fall.

You pull the rug.

You steal the ball.

But I will not cry for you.

I refuse to dance on cue.


You set me up

To go nowhere.

You watch my pain.

You don’t play fair.

But I will not cry for you.

I refuse to dance on cue.


You catch me

Just to earn my trust.

Then laugh when you

Give the knife a thrust.

But I will not cry for you.

I refuse to dance on cue.


In loving you

I know much pain.

Is this my life?

This hope-soaked stain?

But I will not cry for you.

I refuse to dance on cue.


So many un-cried tears

So many un-cried tears













**Please understand it takes a lot of work to hold onto these melancholy feelings long enough to get a poem out. These are not cries for help. I am not in a bad marriage, nor am I suicidal. I am merely a writer doing her best to explore her emotions to write the best poetry her little heart can produce.**



This Is So Obnoxious! or Who Wants To Write A Creepy Book For Me?

6 Jul

I had a nightmare last night.

One of my nightmares that seems to go back multiple times to fix it’s own plot errors until it has the situation good and scary.

These are usually perfect sci-fi novel fodder.

Except that I really do not want to write that kind of book!

Especially not the mind bending, medical/science-y, creepy-crawly stuff. It would take lots of research to find out what the WHO, the CDC, and American Government would do.

Then there’s the icky, creepy stuff!

It doesn’t just make my skin crawl, it makes it stand up on the table, lift it’s skirts, and scream that someone should do something about the thing that’s scuttling around on the floor!!!

(My big, strong, manly-man husband didn’t even want me to finish telling him the details)

*            *            *

I am pathetic. This is about as creepy as I can handle:


Actually, I’m not kidding that much. :/

A sister talked me into watching Constantine when it first came out. *shudders* At the end of the movie she had bruises in her thigh from where my fingers had latched onto her. I was jumpy for months afterward.

*            *            *

Does anyone want to write this for me?

I have already handed a couple synopsis of other dreams to that sister and her husband. They’re so busy I’m not sure when those stories will get done. So I guess I’m in the market for someone who would be willing to take this idea and run with it.

If there’s anyone out there who has always wanted to write the next Alien/Arachniphobia/Independence Day all rolled into one give me a holler in the comments below, or on Twitter, or Facebook, or by tin can.

We’ll see if we’re compatible, and what you think of an abbreviated synopsis. (Why is the word abbreviated so dang long?!)


I realize that this is not the normal channel for finding a writer, but I am not normal, and I’m not really looking for normal. This book would not be normal!

Also, I will not be able to afford an up-front fee…yeah, sooo that right there is going to cut the throngs of potential authors back by a good, oh…100%.

But, let’s see what happens, huh?