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What I Do When I Cannot Write.

· Sunday, May 17th, 2015

· 9 Comments

It happens sometimes. I simply cannot write. Try as I may to do so, nothing flows from my mind to the page. I do what all writers are supposed to do. I keep my rear end in the chair until I feel it turning into mush—and my brain with it. Finally, I give up. Negative thoughts run through my mind. Perhaps I’m not supposed to write. Maybe my muse has deserted…

Of Branches and Twigs

· Saturday, April 11th, 2015

· 16 Comments

Oh no! I thought as I opened our curtain to a world of white. Unlike in other parts of the country, April snow is not unusual in Colorado. But my husband and I had just returned from Texas, and I was not anxious to slop through the wet snow to refill my fridge. As I watched the dark sky brighten, I felt this particular morning was somehow unusual. I wasn’t…

Sacred Stream

· Sunday, February 15th, 2015

· 12 Comments

Sunday morning is a good time to think about the sacred. Is the stream that comes from my muse, or the source of my inspiration, sacred? Some writers would give a resounding “yes.” And to the extent that our creative natures are connected to and empowered by our Creator God, they would be correct. But I also believe my stream of creativity is God-inspired because I have committed it to…

Finding the Boost in Boredom

· Saturday, January 10th, 2015

· 12 Comments

“Boredom is the beginning of creativity,” I would tell my children when they lamented, “Mama, I’m BORED!” I would then look at them and say, “What are you going to do about it?” I would watch as they’d shift from one leg to another, roll their eyes from side to side, and finally smile—a signal that their unique natures had helped them find an interesting way to spend their time. Off…

You Are The Writer You Tell Yourself You Are

· Saturday, November 29th, 2014

· 11 Comments

It occurred to me this morning that as I begin the publishing process on my new children’s book, Weaver Pond Stories, I have been telling myself (and everyone in earshot) how much I hate marketing. I know that equal parts of fear and the need for personal privacy mixed together are at the bottom of this self-talk. Mind you, I’ve done some successful marketing for both my husband’s and my…

Broken Mugs

· Friday, October 17th, 2014

· 10 Comments

On my way to meet with my writing group, I grabbed my favorite travel mug—the one with a broken handle. The picture of a skull with a broken jaw immediately popped into mind. Oh yeah I thought and began laughing. I’m working on a murder mystery, and there’s no telling where the mind will travel when it’s cooking a mystery. Back to the broken mug. It’s the one with pictures…

Keep Calm and Carry On

· Sunday, September 14th, 2014

· 9 Comments

KEEP CALM AND CARRY ON These words were on one of several motivational posters published by the British government during World War II. The poster was simple: large-print, white letters on a red background with a crown topping the lettering. It was to be circulated upon the invasion of Nazi Germany into Great Britain. Because of luck, Hitler’s focus on Russia, or perhaps Divine protection, the invasion never occurred, and…

Early Morning Moon

· Wednesday, July 16th, 2014

· 14 Comments

Strange is my first thought as I draw open my west-facing curtains. I never expect to see the full moon at sunrise. But there it is shining through an early morning mist that clings and runs like tears along the leaves and through the blades of grass. A comforting verse suddenly runs through my mind: “…weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.” (Psalms 30:5) The…

Three Fallen Trees

· Saturday, May 24th, 2014

· 10 Comments

When it comes to war, no one is a winner. A few years ago on Memorial Day, I wanted some alone time and found myself walking through a neighborhood open space. Our area had been hit by a devastating storm, and I observed the damage that 80-120 mph winds can do. To quote an over-used cliché, it looked like a war zone. I wrote this poem when I returned from my…

On Mothers, Daughters and Rodeo

· Tuesday, May 6th, 2014

· 2 Comments

When I was a kid growing up in Tucson, Arizona, my Mom dragged me to the rodeo every few years. I could spot the dreaded rodeo grounds from a distance by the tan cloud of dust hanging in the air like a comic strip balloon: I’m over here, ready to clog your lungs with dust, fungus, bacteria and airborne microscopic animal feces. The very sight of it made me wish…

What I Do When I Cannot Write.

Of Branches and Twigs

Sacred Stream

Finding the Boost in Boredom

You Are The Writer You Tell Yourself You Are

Broken Mugs

Keep Calm and Carry On

Early Morning Moon

Three Fallen Trees

On Mothers, Daughters and Rodeo

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Tales from Weaver Pond

In the Heart of a Quiet Garden

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