Posts

Writing what truly matters

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The sunset at Samoa Beach from a few days ago.... Yesterday morning I sat down to write. Which meant first I read over the previous chapter, which took about fifteen or twenty minutes. Maybe fifteen. I had written perhaps two paragraphs, then my computer and monitor died. For seconds I inwardly shrieked. Going to my feet, I turned on the light, which worked. Which was even more frightening; what the heck was wrong? I called for my husband, who is a superhero; he noticed I had inadvertently with my shoe unplugged the power strip my computer and monition are both plugged into. DUDE! The computer turned on fine, my document saved, though not completely. A few sentences from that day's writing were all to remain before the document self-saved everything. For another few seconds I was.... Not terrified, merely slightly downcast. Yet I was also greatly appreciative that everything in the previous chapter I had altered was SAFE. No idea what I had changed, but those changes weren't af...
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Pondering why I do what I do

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My first Kawandi quilt, which perhaps I've posted previously, but it was the easiest shot to include. Finished last year, and I hope to make another one someday. The writing, sewing, getting up at way too early of the morning, lol. Pondering more prayer time. Though I wish all the sorrows of the world didn't require intercessions. Mulling over what I might write about, in regard to Suze, Richard, etc. Yet grateful I'm in this writing mood or mode or jag or whatever it is that compels me to type a lot of melodramatic hoo haa. Thinking about how the summer solstice is now nearly a month past, and while I can discern light behind the southern treeline, it's still pretty dark outside, though the marine layer is part of that, not allowing as much light as would otherwise emerge. Grateful for a warm laptop on my lap since I didn't put on extra pajama pants, lol. Not that it's cold, but it's the North Coast and it's not sweltering. For which I'm also thankf...
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Writing based upon the start of day

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I'm pretty fluid here lately, not sure why other than I'm making up for posts not written when visitors graced our home. I didn't write fiction yesterday, and this morning didn't feel it would occur. Then the marine layer arrived, but not in its usual takeover kind of way. It was mottled, unable to fully grasp the North Coast with both hands. Instead it possessed a shaky grip that occasionally gave way to the beauty in the photo above. That view inspired me to write what sits below, enough of a scene to usher in perhaps the rest of a chapter. I'm posting this before I continue the writing, but after having read through it, adjusting the minor points, erasing the biggest errors. Because sometimes the marine layer relents. And sometimes the writing squeaks through. Enjoy and have a beautiful day! Chapter 6   Clouds intruded on the morning Richard and Gilly left for South San Francisco. Gilly was behind the wheel, Suze noticed, watching them from the front room windo...
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Feeling prayerful

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We are all part of this tapestry called life. Two more people have been murdered by ICE.  Lorenzo Salgado Araujo in Texas. Joan Sebastian Guerrero in Maine. Neither was the actual suspect ICE was seeking. Both were shot dead, Mr. Guerrero suffering multiple bullet wounds, his young daughter with him in the vehicle. None of the ICE agents were wearing body cameras, as allegedly they weren't issued the equipment. In both cases, ICE agents claim they and the public were in physical danger. My prayers go out to all those who love and are grieving the loss of these men. And I pray that those who killed them will one day acknowledge the wrongs of their actions, and seek forgiveness for such callous and cold-blooded acts. And that each of us will step up in our own neighborhoods, towns, and cities to better care for and love our neighbor, no matter the personal cost.    
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Not quite in the mood to write, so here's an excerpt

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In yesterday's post, I wanted to add a bit from the new story, but nothing grabbed me. This morning, reading over Chapter Five prior to writing, I found multiple things that required...assistance. Lol. With still one scene left to read, I'm first going to plop here what I've adjusted, in the hope of sharing a little more of Gilly Lund , as well as the photo above of Camilla caught napping from a few days ago. Below is what I worked on last night, the Warm Hearted Quilt back on the sofa and under my tutelage. Or the tutelage of a threaded needle or three. Maybe I'll write some today, or perhaps I need extra time to get back into the swing of writing. If nothing, else, I need to check the dryer, have some Metamucil, and definitely more caffeine. Enjoy this slice of where my fiction currently resides, in Northern California, autumn 1999. And have a peaceful day!     Chapter Five     Gilly Lund Whitlow was one of the last waiting to deplane, but within her mind conversa...
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Love stories aren't always about romance

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Recent additions to my Peace Round the World quilt. Greg and Hugh Lund and how did I write all this anyway.... With guests back in their own realms, this morning I sat to read what I'd been writing last month. Wow; where has this month gone? Silly question, but I throw it out there because it's already the thirteenth of July, DUDE! Okay, time warps aside, what I wanted to ponder was how sometimes love stories aren't about eroticism. Sometimes they're about familial rapprochement or merely recognizing how much someone means in our spheres. In reading over the five chapters of what's going on in the lives of Richard and Suze Lund, I was struck at how in two particular instances love within that family, but not Suze and Richard, drives the plot. Or it stirred something in me now a couple of weeks later. Love between brothers Greg and Hugh, between Richard and both of his sons. Love as meaningful as what's shared between spouses, but doesn't get the airplay that...
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Enough grace for all

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 Contemplating what drives someone to kill another person because of racial/ethnic/sexuality-gender hatred, and what if instead of hating the murderer,  we loved them? It's probably not what they want. They might prefer to be feared. Or loathed. They might act in heinous manners to further their malicious agenda, hoping their devious actions will continue to stir chaos, which could encourage additional misdeeds. I'm stitching hearts into little sections of quilt sandwiches, pondering the murder of Lorenzo Salgado Araujo in Houston, Texas earlier this week. Slowly affixing this quilt into one coherent cozy, kind of the opposite of what the person who shot Lorenzo Salgado Araujo in the chest did. And yet, I'm trying to not project anger on that ICE agent. I'm trying to extend grace while attempting to understand why ending a person's life seemed to matter more than allowing them to live. You might say, "Well you didn't know Lorenzo Salgado Araujo, so it's...
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