I did it. I hit the fifty thousand word mark. This year, I tried some other tricks. Checking my word count earlier with the National Novel Writing Month counter. Then, I did another thing because of getting ready for Thanksgiving, I took breaks, not from writing, but from the actual story. So, even though, I completed the goal of the word count, the real work now begins. I ran around the story during the breaks. I thought about the story and wrote my thoughts.
The work begins. I love this story, too. I guess one has to love what one writes. Well, maybe not, I guess could be debated. I got bogged down with some details and needed to work them out. I wrote about that. I thought of Emma Thompson in Stranger than Fiction with her character, Will Ferrell, hearing her voice telling the story about him. I explored how writing really is showing and telling. We must tell some. I thought how the new trend is telling while the actors show the story. The Wonder Years popularized that. Arrested Development uses it so much in this season that the actors almost don't have to work. Since we are coming into the Christmas season, A Christmas Story, the Jean Sheppard story of 'you'll shoot your eye out' also utilized this type of story telling on the screen. The original writer for The Wonder Years found the new writers as the show grew popular wanted to use the technique to overkill, and he had to restrain them, like kids with a new toy.
Well, the marathon is over. I wrote over seven thousand words one day to keep with the deadline, but that wasn't today. Today only a little over five thousand. I know I can do this and I want to continue the slow and steady race. But deadlines are important. I will set mine up again for Last Free Exit and Country.
Tonight, though, I have completed the National Novel Writing Month and I will keep a Sabbath day of rest tomorrow. I am not sure I will even want to open the lap top. I have reading to do. I have a historical home to visit their Christmas tree display on State Route 62 in Hermitage. Maybe I'll watch a movie to allow my mind to rest. I'll take a long winter nap to bless my soul.
I have earned a bit of a rest, but I will not stop. I will continue to write and rewrite, revise and edit. I anticipate the continued work of creating stories. And I love it, still.
Saturday, November 30, 2013
Wednesday, November 27, 2013
Tuesday, November 26, 2013
Teddy's Law Tuesdays
From Teddy's Law Facebook Page:
Child abuse happens all year long and throughout the world. We will fight for Teddy's Law and keep speaking out for all abused kids.
Bullying, verbal abuse, mental abuse toward kids are still forms of child abuse. Physical abuse & child torture are the worst but all forms of abuse will impact a child's future. The saddest part about child abuse is these kids are helpless in stopping abuse, we are not. Speak out to anyone who is willing to listen. Abused children suffer at the hands of their abusers. Child abusers and those who protect abusers are the lowest excuse for human beings. Parents are not normally geared to be abusive, the exceptions should be denied any mercy within the legal system. They say "Justice is Blind", it's time "Lady Justice" removes her blindfold so these monsters receive what they deserve.
Child abuse happens all year long and throughout the world. We will fight for Teddy's Law and keep speaking out for all abused kids.
Bullying, verbal abuse, mental abuse toward kids are still forms of child abuse. Physical abuse & child torture are the worst but all forms of abuse will impact a child's future. The saddest part about child abuse is these kids are helpless in stopping abuse, we are not. Speak out to anyone who is willing to listen. Abused children suffer at the hands of their abusers. Child abusers and those who protect abusers are the lowest excuse for human beings. Parents are not normally geared to be abusive, the exceptions should be denied any mercy within the legal system. They say "Justice is Blind", it's time "Lady Justice" removes her blindfold so these monsters receive what they deserve.
Saturday, November 23, 2013
Scary Halloween
Re-posting. Originally written in 2012.
Twenty four years ago, we had a very wet, gloomy October. I had just found out I was pregnant with Katie. We were moving into our house, but still living at my parents while they traveled south to Florida. David and I would go to our new house, and I ended up laying on the couch sleeping. I couldn't believe how tired a little life could make me. I worked full time afternoons in ICU, also.
Halloween Day, the sun shone brightly. I got a burst of energy, dusting every thing that had been moved from one and a half years storage. I even wanted to walk to Taco Bell, but we decided we didn't have time.
Mom and Dad were back from their trip. Dad, already set up to treat the trick-ers, stood at their front door. I love to watch the children trotting up the street. I felt great as I entered the living room to be with Dad. Then I felt something funny, wet between my legs, and I discreetly went to our room. Blood between my legs. I panicked.
I called my doctor immediately as my pregnancy was only a month along. The nurse, an older, wizened nurse, calmly told me to lay down, right now. I was only get up to the bathroom for forty eight hours. Oh, boy, I was scared.
We hadn't told my parents, or David's, either. His parents had planned to come that weekend to help us move and settle into our new house. We planned to announce our wonderful news at dinner on Saturday. I told David, "You have to tell my dad. I never stayed in bed this long, even when I was sick."
David looked at me quizzically.
"You have to," I reinforced my demand.
I also knew my dad would pray. I wasn't a fervent prayer at that time. I was in one of those dips of doing things my way with just a nod to God.
David's brother and wife, Ray and Kathy with their two young boys still made the trip to the Valley to see her parents, her relatives and us. I instructed David to tell them as well. I knew they would pray.
Jody and Megan came upstairs to see me. Megan's eyes round as saucers, in her costume, either a witch or Indian. Jody sat on the bed and talked. She had directed me to this obstetrician, so we chatted about him and his nurse.
The next day, my dad popped his head in the door, "So, you got yourself pregnant?"
"Dad, I wanted to."
"I know. What can I get you to eat?"
A few days later, I got a card from Ray's mens prayer group at his church in Indiana, Pennsylvania. Sixty men signed a card that they had prayed for me the next day after the Ray Lyon's had been here. That tan card that sixty men signed signified a great power to me.
After the initial complete bed rest, I was allowed to go downstairs once a day and back upstairs once a day. Mrs. Voisey, the doctor's nurse advised me, "Just look at the dust and say isn't that a pretty pattern."
I was more tired after that week of inactivity than if I worked hard. Going back to the unit was hard at first. The greatest moment was a week later, hearing the baby's heartbeat for the first time with the Doppler. The scare was over. I counted the prayers, but still had not become a praying woman.
Twenty four years ago, we had a very wet, gloomy October. I had just found out I was pregnant with Katie. We were moving into our house, but still living at my parents while they traveled south to Florida. David and I would go to our new house, and I ended up laying on the couch sleeping. I couldn't believe how tired a little life could make me. I worked full time afternoons in ICU, also.
Halloween Day, the sun shone brightly. I got a burst of energy, dusting every thing that had been moved from one and a half years storage. I even wanted to walk to Taco Bell, but we decided we didn't have time.
Mom and Dad were back from their trip. Dad, already set up to treat the trick-ers, stood at their front door. I love to watch the children trotting up the street. I felt great as I entered the living room to be with Dad. Then I felt something funny, wet between my legs, and I discreetly went to our room. Blood between my legs. I panicked.
I called my doctor immediately as my pregnancy was only a month along. The nurse, an older, wizened nurse, calmly told me to lay down, right now. I was only get up to the bathroom for forty eight hours. Oh, boy, I was scared.
We hadn't told my parents, or David's, either. His parents had planned to come that weekend to help us move and settle into our new house. We planned to announce our wonderful news at dinner on Saturday. I told David, "You have to tell my dad. I never stayed in bed this long, even when I was sick."
David looked at me quizzically.
"You have to," I reinforced my demand.
I also knew my dad would pray. I wasn't a fervent prayer at that time. I was in one of those dips of doing things my way with just a nod to God.
David's brother and wife, Ray and Kathy with their two young boys still made the trip to the Valley to see her parents, her relatives and us. I instructed David to tell them as well. I knew they would pray.
Jody and Megan came upstairs to see me. Megan's eyes round as saucers, in her costume, either a witch or Indian. Jody sat on the bed and talked. She had directed me to this obstetrician, so we chatted about him and his nurse.
The next day, my dad popped his head in the door, "So, you got yourself pregnant?"
"Dad, I wanted to."
"I know. What can I get you to eat?"
A few days later, I got a card from Ray's mens prayer group at his church in Indiana, Pennsylvania. Sixty men signed a card that they had prayed for me the next day after the Ray Lyon's had been here. That tan card that sixty men signed signified a great power to me.
After the initial complete bed rest, I was allowed to go downstairs once a day and back upstairs once a day. Mrs. Voisey, the doctor's nurse advised me, "Just look at the dust and say isn't that a pretty pattern."
I was more tired after that week of inactivity than if I worked hard. Going back to the unit was hard at first. The greatest moment was a week later, hearing the baby's heartbeat for the first time with the Doppler. The scare was over. I counted the prayers, but still had not become a praying woman.
Friday, November 22, 2013
Ego Getting the Better of Me?
I had a writing marathon yesterday, climbing my word count on my novel to 35500 words. Over seven thousand words in one day. It did help that the story is getting interesting and I haven't even gotten to the parts I want to write. Now, I'm back on track for NaNoWriMo, and Monday, November 25, I can validate, check my word count with theirs.
In one of my breaks though, I read an article about letting ego overtake your writing. Or I should say, not letting ego get the better of your writing. In the throws of writing furiously for my word count, I feel sometimes the writing is sub par or as the author of the article declared his writing as poor when he started, yet at the time, he thought it was brilliant. He found a critic, who punched him in the gut, so to speak and he improved.
I look back at my former goals, like desiring to write magazine articles to get my work in print. The glare of the public eye would give me insight into my writing, as I built my platform as recommended. Cec Murphy, a blogger suggested by one of the writers I follow, is writing a series on writing magazine articles to have published material. I feel lost when I read his blog the last few weeks because I had originally purposed to achieve that goal.
Life, though, threw some curve balls into my plans. I self published Summer Triangle because I wanted a piece of work out there. I can't afford writer's conferences, either the money to go or the time to take off work. I find myself yearning more for classes to improve.
I am not whining, or at least I'm now veering away from that vein. I hope to keep humble. I hope to improve always my writing. I hope to always continue writing. I should try to serve no wine before its time or piece. I do jump ahead of myself and get impatient.
I think of this blog as my magazine articles or writing a column for a newspaper. I set deadlines for myself. I practice my skill almost every day. But ego can blind myself as to whether I'm good or not. I guess I need the harsh critic to keep me on my toes. A harsh critic to tell me the truth. But not this month. I'll write dribble and revise later.
I write story, though, which makes me happy. I would love to make a living with writing and do it more than I do. I guess, like Frank Sinatra, I'll do it my way with God's help. I promise to be teachable, too.
In one of my breaks though, I read an article about letting ego overtake your writing. Or I should say, not letting ego get the better of your writing. In the throws of writing furiously for my word count, I feel sometimes the writing is sub par or as the author of the article declared his writing as poor when he started, yet at the time, he thought it was brilliant. He found a critic, who punched him in the gut, so to speak and he improved.
I look back at my former goals, like desiring to write magazine articles to get my work in print. The glare of the public eye would give me insight into my writing, as I built my platform as recommended. Cec Murphy, a blogger suggested by one of the writers I follow, is writing a series on writing magazine articles to have published material. I feel lost when I read his blog the last few weeks because I had originally purposed to achieve that goal.
Life, though, threw some curve balls into my plans. I self published Summer Triangle because I wanted a piece of work out there. I can't afford writer's conferences, either the money to go or the time to take off work. I find myself yearning more for classes to improve.
I am not whining, or at least I'm now veering away from that vein. I hope to keep humble. I hope to improve always my writing. I hope to always continue writing. I should try to serve no wine before its time or piece. I do jump ahead of myself and get impatient.
I think of this blog as my magazine articles or writing a column for a newspaper. I set deadlines for myself. I practice my skill almost every day. But ego can blind myself as to whether I'm good or not. I guess I need the harsh critic to keep me on my toes. A harsh critic to tell me the truth. But not this month. I'll write dribble and revise later.
I write story, though, which makes me happy. I would love to make a living with writing and do it more than I do. I guess, like Frank Sinatra, I'll do it my way with God's help. I promise to be teachable, too.
Wednesday, November 20, 2013
Tuesday, November 19, 2013
Teddy's Law Tuesday
From the Teddy's Law Facebook page:
The
holidays are on the way, a very busy time but very depressing for
anyone who has lost a child to abuse. Children suffering abuse are not
able to enoy the holidays like other kids. Please keep these kids in
your thoughts and prayers and thank God for the children who are healthy
and safe. Will keep on fighting for Teddy's Law.
Let's do all we can to help abused children and support this cause. Thanks.
Monday, November 18, 2013
Daily Drizzle
I have to admit that I think on Monday mornings, I'm glad I work afternoon turn. I did sleep in and need to add some words to my novel. I wrote over four thousand yesterday. I planned to write more, at least five thousand, but as I reposted yesterday, I had the gut problem.
As predicted, storms and high winds blew through the area at seven in the evening. I thought of the cutest author, Snoopy, typing, "It was a dark and stormy night." My story, though, was following a hot and humid day at the lake. A storm did build and trapped them in a mini van, but a summer shower soon blew over. In a drought, they needed a steady drizzle for days.
Writing should be like that, a steady drizzle for days, not a windy torrent of words. So as I slept in and seem to take a while to wake, and soon need to get ready for work, today is a drizzle. I can't skip a day, though, with the novel. I am behind, but as the encouraging word today is we're into the plot, now, introductions are fairly over and the writing flows better in week three.
So I'm writing for a half hour, now and maybe a half hour when I get home this evening to enable that word count to creep up the graph. I'm also glad I have a husband who pretends very well to understand the writing I need to do. I am blessed.
As predicted, storms and high winds blew through the area at seven in the evening. I thought of the cutest author, Snoopy, typing, "It was a dark and stormy night." My story, though, was following a hot and humid day at the lake. A storm did build and trapped them in a mini van, but a summer shower soon blew over. In a drought, they needed a steady drizzle for days.
Writing should be like that, a steady drizzle for days, not a windy torrent of words. So as I slept in and seem to take a while to wake, and soon need to get ready for work, today is a drizzle. I can't skip a day, though, with the novel. I am behind, but as the encouraging word today is we're into the plot, now, introductions are fairly over and the writing flows better in week three.
So I'm writing for a half hour, now and maybe a half hour when I get home this evening to enable that word count to creep up the graph. I'm also glad I have a husband who pretends very well to understand the writing I need to do. I am blessed.
Sunday, November 17, 2013
Oh, My Gut
Last night I woke with what Regis used to call the "grippers". I
kept the bathroom light on as I trotted to and from the bathroom. I was
transported back to the back bedroom in the house I grew up in. When
we first moved there, the room was an upstairs kitchen, as an old lady,
Mrs. Johnson, lived in the upstairs at one time. My mom and dad chose
it as their bedroom and I often slept with them. Dad got up with the
light over the sink to get me a drink of water. The light last night
felt like that light for some reason.
A lot of remodeling was done in that house, like that kitchen changed into a private room with a full tub and shower, back stairs to the kitchen and a large closet. Mom and Dad used that room for quite a few years. I was supposed to have a little room on the east side, the carpet chosen, a maroon pink, since I wanted a pink room. My sisters were to share the front bedroom overlooking Main Street. A short little hall, more like a landing at the top of the curved stairs, led to another bathroom, remodeled with a double sink, and bathtub. The big middle bedroom was my brother's. The three back rooms all blended together, with no central hall, the only drawback I could see with the lay out of this house.
My sisters did not get along at that time and quickly my second sister shared the middle bedroom with me and Dan went into the small room with the maroon pink carpet.
But I think I spent the most time in that back room. I sneaked in when my dad worked midnight turn or laid there until he was home from afternoon turn, then pretended to be asleep so they wouldn't move me into my room.
One time as convenience to my sister entertaining a girlfriend overnight, I slept with my mom. In the morning, Mom discovered that my sister had locked the door. She shrugged at me and we went down the back stairs. But they weren't carpeted and Mom wasn't too happy to use them.
When I was in first grade, my sisters were both all ready in college. I seemed then to have some stomach ailment. Was it first grade stress? I threw up I felt almost every night. My teacher, who was ancient as the hills surrounding our town, missed a lot of school. Her substitute was even older and meaner. Was I worried about my teacher leaving, too? Or was worrying about spelling after Christmas break fearful to me? I was sure they meant cursive writing and I didn't feel ready to do that. Christmas party time, I had a cute little red and white dress with an adorable gray mouse on the pocket. I still love gray Christmas mouses to this day. But I was sick. My stomach hurt so much. My teacher was very sympathetic to me and I felt accepted, even though I was scared about that spelling in January.
At night, I laid in my parent's bed with a towel, in case I couldn't make it to the bathroom. My mom would rub my stomach and I used a heating pad.
By the end of the year, the pediatrician was going to work up the situation. The first test was the simple urine test, only I couldn't pee in that doctor's office. My mother turned on the spigot and even the sound of running water didn't help. We went a few blocks over to my grandmother's, who scolded me for not peeing when it was required, but I was relaxed and was able to pee in her dim old lady bathroom.
No more tests were done because I seemed to have a miraculous recovery. I don't know if they ever did figure it out. My mother often said she thought I was worried about my teacher, but didn't know how to voice my concern. It could have been that or just that fear of added responsibilities, like spelling in January.
A lot of remodeling was done in that house, like that kitchen changed into a private room with a full tub and shower, back stairs to the kitchen and a large closet. Mom and Dad used that room for quite a few years. I was supposed to have a little room on the east side, the carpet chosen, a maroon pink, since I wanted a pink room. My sisters were to share the front bedroom overlooking Main Street. A short little hall, more like a landing at the top of the curved stairs, led to another bathroom, remodeled with a double sink, and bathtub. The big middle bedroom was my brother's. The three back rooms all blended together, with no central hall, the only drawback I could see with the lay out of this house.
My sisters did not get along at that time and quickly my second sister shared the middle bedroom with me and Dan went into the small room with the maroon pink carpet.
But I think I spent the most time in that back room. I sneaked in when my dad worked midnight turn or laid there until he was home from afternoon turn, then pretended to be asleep so they wouldn't move me into my room.
One time as convenience to my sister entertaining a girlfriend overnight, I slept with my mom. In the morning, Mom discovered that my sister had locked the door. She shrugged at me and we went down the back stairs. But they weren't carpeted and Mom wasn't too happy to use them.
When I was in first grade, my sisters were both all ready in college. I seemed then to have some stomach ailment. Was it first grade stress? I threw up I felt almost every night. My teacher, who was ancient as the hills surrounding our town, missed a lot of school. Her substitute was even older and meaner. Was I worried about my teacher leaving, too? Or was worrying about spelling after Christmas break fearful to me? I was sure they meant cursive writing and I didn't feel ready to do that. Christmas party time, I had a cute little red and white dress with an adorable gray mouse on the pocket. I still love gray Christmas mouses to this day. But I was sick. My stomach hurt so much. My teacher was very sympathetic to me and I felt accepted, even though I was scared about that spelling in January.
At night, I laid in my parent's bed with a towel, in case I couldn't make it to the bathroom. My mom would rub my stomach and I used a heating pad.
By the end of the year, the pediatrician was going to work up the situation. The first test was the simple urine test, only I couldn't pee in that doctor's office. My mother turned on the spigot and even the sound of running water didn't help. We went a few blocks over to my grandmother's, who scolded me for not peeing when it was required, but I was relaxed and was able to pee in her dim old lady bathroom.
No more tests were done because I seemed to have a miraculous recovery. I don't know if they ever did figure it out. My mother often said she thought I was worried about my teacher, but didn't know how to voice my concern. It could have been that or just that fear of added responsibilities, like spelling in January.
Saturday, November 16, 2013
Dreams for 2014
Facebook may suck up a lot of my time, but seeing other creative folks on the pages enables me to dream. We live in various sections of our great country and the world. Actually geting together face to face would be an impossibility. Friends know friends who write and suggestions to be friends enlarges my circle.
I think of writers of long ago who actually visited with other writers. Mary Shelley with the input of her group, created Frankenstein. The friendship of C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien formed. And the French gathering of the 1920's authors, Ernest Hemingway, Scott Fitzgerald and Gertrude Stein, and others encouraging each other.
A cousin of my husband, introduced me to a young mother, Bonnie Fitzgerald Smith, who writes and I enjoy her writing, as well as encourage her. Anita Mathias from Cambridge, popped into my circle through Twitter. I met some more writers, Sue Anderson, Homer Hickman and Christy Jordan this morning through a post from a friend from high school. I look at their pages and think this is interesting and promising.
Locally, I have my writers support group from Boardman. I have met local authors here in Shenango Valley, where we plan to get together once a month, starting in January. I love all the possibilities spread out before me.
I guess that is why I love NaNoWriMo. We support each other in our writing efforts. I think this is like the pen pals of old, but we don't have to wait as long for the anticipated answer to correspondence. Friends with like interests flower my life. Friends of diverse interests also flavor my spectrum of imagination. I still long for that weekend in a cabin in the woods, staying up late, exchanging stories and ideas. I guess that is what a writer's conference is.
I'm to dream this weekend, so my dream is a strong group locally and the means to attend a writer's conference in 2014, at least, the local St. David's Christian Writers Conference in June. Strong friendships, conferences to learn and more writing time fill my wish list for 2014.
I think of writers of long ago who actually visited with other writers. Mary Shelley with the input of her group, created Frankenstein. The friendship of C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien formed. And the French gathering of the 1920's authors, Ernest Hemingway, Scott Fitzgerald and Gertrude Stein, and others encouraging each other.
A cousin of my husband, introduced me to a young mother, Bonnie Fitzgerald Smith, who writes and I enjoy her writing, as well as encourage her. Anita Mathias from Cambridge, popped into my circle through Twitter. I met some more writers, Sue Anderson, Homer Hickman and Christy Jordan this morning through a post from a friend from high school. I look at their pages and think this is interesting and promising.
Locally, I have my writers support group from Boardman. I have met local authors here in Shenango Valley, where we plan to get together once a month, starting in January. I love all the possibilities spread out before me.
I guess that is why I love NaNoWriMo. We support each other in our writing efforts. I think this is like the pen pals of old, but we don't have to wait as long for the anticipated answer to correspondence. Friends with like interests flower my life. Friends of diverse interests also flavor my spectrum of imagination. I still long for that weekend in a cabin in the woods, staying up late, exchanging stories and ideas. I guess that is what a writer's conference is.
I'm to dream this weekend, so my dream is a strong group locally and the means to attend a writer's conference in 2014, at least, the local St. David's Christian Writers Conference in June. Strong friendships, conferences to learn and more writing time fill my wish list for 2014.
Thursday, November 14, 2013
I Keep Writing
About a week ago, I listened to Ted Dekker's http://teddekker.com/ interview on Chris Fabry http://www.moodyradio.org/brd_ProgramDetail.aspx?id=122167 live- the pod cast, since I'm working when it is live. Ted is promoting his Outlaw tour, where he is speaking more than just book signing his most autobiographical book, yet. He sells it that way. I haven't had the privilege to read it at this point.
I started reading Ted Dekker when I was looking for Christian writers. An article for summer reads came out in my fellowship's magazine, The Pentecostal Evangel. Katie was in high school and it was before Rich Jones came to our church as youth pastor, (as I awoke the gray matter, I remember it was nine years ago, 2004) that I immersed myself in Ted's writing. I love what they now call the early Ted-Heaven's Wager, the first and my favorite, although, I don't own that one. I bought the Heaven series, and Blink, with a chapter in Ridgecrest, California, as well as many others. I could not put these books down and I vowed I wanted to write like that. I gave many away to encourage, especially young people to think. He definitely did not follow the Christian fiction formula. He wrote about evil, but didn't get vulgar.
In the interview, Ted remarked that each book is like a journal of his life when he wrote them. I am finding that true, too. Summer Triangle, although fiction, used much of my life a year ago. Main Street is set in the house and town where I grew up. The story I'm writing this month for NaNoWriMo is a different time in my life, and I'm not sure exactly how it is going to turn out, like life, itself.
Even looking back on my blog, I think, "Wow, that was happening, then?" An article will show on my pageviews and I'll wonder, "What was that one about?" As I read it, I'm thinking I'll need to edit these sometimes. If I lived it, wrote about something, finding it unclear, what of you, the reader?
I know from reading that I must hone my craft every day. I'm growing. I need to write. I hope some time to have more time to go to a conference to develop more. One good thing about life, it keeps going. One of my favorite John Cougar Mellencamp songs, Life Goes On. We hold on to the wonder of sixteen, but hopefully have the wisdom of age.
I started reading Ted Dekker when I was looking for Christian writers. An article for summer reads came out in my fellowship's magazine, The Pentecostal Evangel. Katie was in high school and it was before Rich Jones came to our church as youth pastor, (as I awoke the gray matter, I remember it was nine years ago, 2004) that I immersed myself in Ted's writing. I love what they now call the early Ted-Heaven's Wager, the first and my favorite, although, I don't own that one. I bought the Heaven series, and Blink, with a chapter in Ridgecrest, California, as well as many others. I could not put these books down and I vowed I wanted to write like that. I gave many away to encourage, especially young people to think. He definitely did not follow the Christian fiction formula. He wrote about evil, but didn't get vulgar.
In the interview, Ted remarked that each book is like a journal of his life when he wrote them. I am finding that true, too. Summer Triangle, although fiction, used much of my life a year ago. Main Street is set in the house and town where I grew up. The story I'm writing this month for NaNoWriMo is a different time in my life, and I'm not sure exactly how it is going to turn out, like life, itself.
Even looking back on my blog, I think, "Wow, that was happening, then?" An article will show on my pageviews and I'll wonder, "What was that one about?" As I read it, I'm thinking I'll need to edit these sometimes. If I lived it, wrote about something, finding it unclear, what of you, the reader?
I know from reading that I must hone my craft every day. I'm growing. I need to write. I hope some time to have more time to go to a conference to develop more. One good thing about life, it keeps going. One of my favorite John Cougar Mellencamp songs, Life Goes On. We hold on to the wonder of sixteen, but hopefully have the wisdom of age.
Wednesday, November 13, 2013
Tuesday, November 12, 2013
Teddy's Law Tuesday
I don't have an inspiration to write today. I still want to bring attention to the need for awareness and supporting laws to strengthen authorities faced with finding and helping abused children. Teddy's Law is in Ohio. Teddy's mom removed him from two school districts to hide the abuse. Part of this law is to make that harder to do.
I am torn a bit with parents' rights as well to educate their children as they see fit. I suggest we pray for wisdom for our authorities, those making laws, those enforcing laws and those working with children. Truly insight and wisdom are called for with our children.
Look into laws in your own states and countries. Become active in supporting them. Donate money to these causes. I am donating to Teddy's cause because the case hit my heart from the moment I heard about it. Pray that my writing will shed light on child abuse. Country that I'm working on after NaNoWriMo novel this month, is shaping up to open eyes to abuse.
We cannot forget the children. So I will write something every Tuesday for Teddy's memory and for all the children being abused. Keep your eyes opened.
I am torn a bit with parents' rights as well to educate their children as they see fit. I suggest we pray for wisdom for our authorities, those making laws, those enforcing laws and those working with children. Truly insight and wisdom are called for with our children.
Look into laws in your own states and countries. Become active in supporting them. Donate money to these causes. I am donating to Teddy's cause because the case hit my heart from the moment I heard about it. Pray that my writing will shed light on child abuse. Country that I'm working on after NaNoWriMo novel this month, is shaping up to open eyes to abuse.
We cannot forget the children. So I will write something every Tuesday for Teddy's memory and for all the children being abused. Keep your eyes opened.
Monday, November 11, 2013
Reflections from a Year Ago
I saw pictures from the band banquet posted last night and I think, hard to believe that what I wrote here was just last year. What busy times for seniors. I reflect, too, on life being cut short as I think of the two seniors killed Friday night and a greeter at Sharon Regional hospital randomly stabbed yesterday by a released patient wanting narcotics in the ER. She is still in critical condition. Writing is a journal. Ted Dekker in a radio interview likened his books to journals. You can't help but be influenced by life around you when you write.:
You blog readers are my first love. I feel I need to blog first. I got behind in my novel writing this week end. Busy, yes, but distracted is more like it. Mary Ellen had an incredibly busy weekend. At the school from eight in the morning till band inspection at four thirty. Off to Edinboro University for the first play off game. Home at eleven fifteen.
Sunday seemed almost as long. Church at nine am for Christmas play practice, then stayed for second service. Home for a few, then to the school, again for inspection for the Veteran's Day parade. Home again in time to take a shower for the band banquet that night. She read the poem beautifully with her friend Carly for their freshman year in band.
I love the band. I wasn't in band when I was in high school. But these kids learn endurance as the football team continues on through our District play offs. Saturday again. This week at one o'clock they travel in the five yellow buses(just for the band) to Slippery Rock University, then our city's Light Up Night parade in the evening.
Oh, and this week is senior class play. Mary Ellen is at the school from seven thirty this morning to nine thirty this evening. This month fills with busyness. I think she and I thrive on it. I know I did in high school.
We put The Miracle Worker on the fall of our senior year. We had our class trip to Washington, D.C. the early part of November. I remember being very exhausted, eating a lot of Dairy Queen meals, as that was our only fast food in W. Middlesex, feeling very behind in my studies and wondering how long is senior year?
Time has flown this year for sure. As Mellie read those words about her freshman year and the other years were reviewed, I could hardly believe four years had passed. At the same time, last year seems like another century.
You blog readers are my first love. I feel I need to blog first. I got behind in my novel writing this week end. Busy, yes, but distracted is more like it. Mary Ellen had an incredibly busy weekend. At the school from eight in the morning till band inspection at four thirty. Off to Edinboro University for the first play off game. Home at eleven fifteen.
Sunday seemed almost as long. Church at nine am for Christmas play practice, then stayed for second service. Home for a few, then to the school, again for inspection for the Veteran's Day parade. Home again in time to take a shower for the band banquet that night. She read the poem beautifully with her friend Carly for their freshman year in band.
I love the band. I wasn't in band when I was in high school. But these kids learn endurance as the football team continues on through our District play offs. Saturday again. This week at one o'clock they travel in the five yellow buses(just for the band) to Slippery Rock University, then our city's Light Up Night parade in the evening.
Oh, and this week is senior class play. Mary Ellen is at the school from seven thirty this morning to nine thirty this evening. This month fills with busyness. I think she and I thrive on it. I know I did in high school.
We put The Miracle Worker on the fall of our senior year. We had our class trip to Washington, D.C. the early part of November. I remember being very exhausted, eating a lot of Dairy Queen meals, as that was our only fast food in W. Middlesex, feeling very behind in my studies and wondering how long is senior year?
Time has flown this year for sure. As Mellie read those words about her freshman year and the other years were reviewed, I could hardly believe four years had passed. At the same time, last year seems like another century.
Sunday, November 10, 2013
Welcome Home Scott
My post from November 11, 2011 honoring the veterans in my family:
Last evening we had the excitement of welcoming home my nephew from his year of Army service in Iraq. His daughter made a gold with black lettering poster for him- they are Steelers fans. A group of twelve stood in the baggage claim area of American Airlines to surprise the veteran. Soon we saw the tall head in the crowd striding down the hall. He noticed us with a faint smile.
A couple of the men who served under him waved good-bye to "Sarge" David commented, "Sarge means like you were born a sarge, not someone you held in your arms as a baby." His way of saying he is proud of his nephew. We are proud of Scott.
Today is Veteran's Day and as always there is the controversy of the "war" verses supporting our troops. I grew up with the Vietnam War and my husband served in the Cold War, speaking of unpopular wars.
I am proud of our country now honoring our Veterans. They clap at parades when the men and women who have served march by the crowd. Bumper stickers, signs and postings on Facebook about the sacrifices made not only by the service people, and their families raise awareness.
They fight and have always fought not only for our freedoms, but the bigger Freedom. It is a desire inbred in Americans to support freedom. We are blessed to experience it here in America. The founding of our country is unique, that no other country in the world up to that time in the 1700's had ever tried it. Yes, some of it is flawed, but we need to catch hold of the vision that ideas, religion, class structure were not to be forced on a people. Individual advancement would be in the people's hands.
Most could not even explain this. I can't really, but our country stands for Freedom of all. It is for that our soldiers and sailors fight.
Some times the enemy is very real. England in our early years, Germany and Japan in wars past. I just talked to a WWII veteran and he was proud to have killed a "Jap." Communism and now terrorism don't have a nation per say behind these strangling ideas. They limit freedom. The devil does not like freedom and we are always in a battle for people to chose.
I want to thank my relatives who believed in Freedom over the years by fighting and serving their country for the greater good:
Gerald T. Lewis-North Africa, Italy
Lyle O. Lyon, New Guinea and the Philippines
Their brothers, David Lewis,France, Clark Lyon,instructor, Leon Lyon, England. All in World War II
My mother's brothers, Bill Evans, 27 years in the Army, three wars, Ed Evans, Korean Conflict.
My brother, Dan Lewis-Vietnam, and willing to go to Iraq when he was in his fifties, but health prevented him- the War on Terrorism.
My husband, David Lyon- leaving his family for months at a time during the Cold War, on a submarine.
My brothers-in-law, Herman Galicia, Paul Lyon. Vietnam and beyond in active duty, reserves or Guard.
My nephew, Scott Lyon- Kosovo, Kuiate, Iraq
Sorry if I got anything wrong.
Thank you to all who love what our country offers enough to fight for others to have it. Thank you.
Last evening we had the excitement of welcoming home my nephew from his year of Army service in Iraq. His daughter made a gold with black lettering poster for him- they are Steelers fans. A group of twelve stood in the baggage claim area of American Airlines to surprise the veteran. Soon we saw the tall head in the crowd striding down the hall. He noticed us with a faint smile.
A couple of the men who served under him waved good-bye to "Sarge" David commented, "Sarge means like you were born a sarge, not someone you held in your arms as a baby." His way of saying he is proud of his nephew. We are proud of Scott.
Today is Veteran's Day and as always there is the controversy of the "war" verses supporting our troops. I grew up with the Vietnam War and my husband served in the Cold War, speaking of unpopular wars.
I am proud of our country now honoring our Veterans. They clap at parades when the men and women who have served march by the crowd. Bumper stickers, signs and postings on Facebook about the sacrifices made not only by the service people, and their families raise awareness.
They fight and have always fought not only for our freedoms, but the bigger Freedom. It is a desire inbred in Americans to support freedom. We are blessed to experience it here in America. The founding of our country is unique, that no other country in the world up to that time in the 1700's had ever tried it. Yes, some of it is flawed, but we need to catch hold of the vision that ideas, religion, class structure were not to be forced on a people. Individual advancement would be in the people's hands.
Most could not even explain this. I can't really, but our country stands for Freedom of all. It is for that our soldiers and sailors fight.
Some times the enemy is very real. England in our early years, Germany and Japan in wars past. I just talked to a WWII veteran and he was proud to have killed a "Jap." Communism and now terrorism don't have a nation per say behind these strangling ideas. They limit freedom. The devil does not like freedom and we are always in a battle for people to chose.
I want to thank my relatives who believed in Freedom over the years by fighting and serving their country for the greater good:
Gerald T. Lewis-North Africa, Italy
Lyle O. Lyon, New Guinea and the Philippines
Their brothers, David Lewis,France, Clark Lyon,instructor, Leon Lyon, England. All in World War II
My mother's brothers, Bill Evans, 27 years in the Army, three wars, Ed Evans, Korean Conflict.
My brother, Dan Lewis-Vietnam, and willing to go to Iraq when he was in his fifties, but health prevented him- the War on Terrorism.
My husband, David Lyon- leaving his family for months at a time during the Cold War, on a submarine.
My brothers-in-law, Herman Galicia, Paul Lyon. Vietnam and beyond in active duty, reserves or Guard.
My nephew, Scott Lyon- Kosovo, Kuiate, Iraq
Sorry if I got anything wrong.
Thank you to all who love what our country offers enough to fight for others to have it. Thank you.
Saturday, November 9, 2013
Inner Voice
Last evening around ten, three Sharon High School students were killed in a car accident. This post will not to go into detail about this. Again, though, their deaths bring to light, the fragility of life. We are not guaranteed tomorrow. Some times we seem to need reminders.
My novel I'm writing now is about high school students who just graduated. It is the beginning of a remarkable summer with the 'super moon' affecting the world. The scene I was writing last night on my comfy couch was about Amber from Summer Triangle and her friends witnessing to some younger girls at Sheetz. She hears from the Holy Spirit (or that inner voice) to bring these girls to a decision.
During the process, I took a break while first Katie, then David leaned on my shoulder. We watched Captain America. I was not as interested in the action scenes. I'm a story person. I kept saying, I hear helicopters, that must be helicopters. Now when we hear helicopters at my house, they are from the Sharon hospital, life flights leaving for Pittsburgh or Cleveland. No one seemed to pay attention to me.
This morning, in the headlines, I read about the accident. Senior foot ball players not playing the play off game in Erie today, the game cancelled. I cry, not because I know these boys, although I might know something about them or their parents, but I cry at the loss of potential, the robbing of a senior year. I pray for the parents, who never knew they were saying good bye for the last time.
So today be grateful for your children. Don't smother them, but love them. I'm grateful for the inner voice of the Holy Spirit and pray that those who follow Him will listen to the voice. Many comforting words will need to be said in Sharon in the next weeks.
My novel I'm writing now is about high school students who just graduated. It is the beginning of a remarkable summer with the 'super moon' affecting the world. The scene I was writing last night on my comfy couch was about Amber from Summer Triangle and her friends witnessing to some younger girls at Sheetz. She hears from the Holy Spirit (or that inner voice) to bring these girls to a decision.
During the process, I took a break while first Katie, then David leaned on my shoulder. We watched Captain America. I was not as interested in the action scenes. I'm a story person. I kept saying, I hear helicopters, that must be helicopters. Now when we hear helicopters at my house, they are from the Sharon hospital, life flights leaving for Pittsburgh or Cleveland. No one seemed to pay attention to me.
This morning, in the headlines, I read about the accident. Senior foot ball players not playing the play off game in Erie today, the game cancelled. I cry, not because I know these boys, although I might know something about them or their parents, but I cry at the loss of potential, the robbing of a senior year. I pray for the parents, who never knew they were saying good bye for the last time.
So today be grateful for your children. Don't smother them, but love them. I'm grateful for the inner voice of the Holy Spirit and pray that those who follow Him will listen to the voice. Many comforting words will need to be said in Sharon in the next weeks.
Friday, November 8, 2013
November Continues
Aw, the poet in me should come out, but "Not feeling it" today. I woke to clear blue skies and sunshine that gradually dissolved into gray, again. As I took some garbage out wearing my Birkenstock sandals that support my arches, the snow spits. Why did I write about snow yesterday?
I think, "I'm a hearty western Pennsylvanian girl. No a really hearty one goes out in inches of snow in bare feet. I don't like the feel of dirty feet."
I did go out in heavy snow in bare feet on a sleep over with seven junior high girls during Christmas vacation around the new year, when snow comes with a vengeance. Of course, it was after midnight when the parents retreated to their bedroom. We laughed at the snow and ran out in our bare feet at one or two in the morning. Our run in the first heavy snowfall of the new year related distantly to a polar bear swim. I suppose if we had been near a lake that probably would have happened, too.
I am strong and November won't get me down. I feel the power of God's favor surge through me, as I look at the many projects in my home, as well, as my writing endeavors. I think this morning, maybe I'm not asking for enough. You know, the adage, "your dreams are too small" telling me I'm limiting myself.
Thousands of words need to be written for NaNoWriMo today, as well. Mostly through this journey of writing, I have to remember I have to write. The low numbers are telling me to stick to writing, improving and always depend on God. I search for voice or a stronger voice. I also know to stay true to myself.
Oh, November, I'm grateful for the introspection you demand.
I think, "I'm a hearty western Pennsylvanian girl. No a really hearty one goes out in inches of snow in bare feet. I don't like the feel of dirty feet."
I did go out in heavy snow in bare feet on a sleep over with seven junior high girls during Christmas vacation around the new year, when snow comes with a vengeance. Of course, it was after midnight when the parents retreated to their bedroom. We laughed at the snow and ran out in our bare feet at one or two in the morning. Our run in the first heavy snowfall of the new year related distantly to a polar bear swim. I suppose if we had been near a lake that probably would have happened, too.
I am strong and November won't get me down. I feel the power of God's favor surge through me, as I look at the many projects in my home, as well, as my writing endeavors. I think this morning, maybe I'm not asking for enough. You know, the adage, "your dreams are too small" telling me I'm limiting myself.
Thousands of words need to be written for NaNoWriMo today, as well. Mostly through this journey of writing, I have to remember I have to write. The low numbers are telling me to stick to writing, improving and always depend on God. I search for voice or a stronger voice. I also know to stay true to myself.
Oh, November, I'm grateful for the introspection you demand.
Thursday, November 7, 2013
November
I see a figure in black, jacket with hood up and pants walking a black larger dog from the top of my hill. The brown and dull gold with black pine of the park looms ahead of the figure. The gray sky with threat of rain envelopes the day. The scene is solitary, yet it is not. He has his dog and a walk to clear the mind.
I think I despise November, despite what I wrote the other day. The anemic sunlight disappears too soon in the evening. Black at six, causing a hunkering down feeling for a too soon night. Yet, it is a creative time of year, as death with black bare branches and dull lifeless leaves against a gray gloomy sky cause a digging down to the words of the soul.
I know why the first snow in November causes a delight. White covers the dull. A heavy snow refreshes a dying landscape, covering the signs of death. White brightens the day. The snow can stay too long, but the first one, I don't think of that, only a change.
The days will get longer again. November only brings a haunting of good bye. I am grateful, though, for the rest, the creativity of this time of year.
I think I despise November, despite what I wrote the other day. The anemic sunlight disappears too soon in the evening. Black at six, causing a hunkering down feeling for a too soon night. Yet, it is a creative time of year, as death with black bare branches and dull lifeless leaves against a gray gloomy sky cause a digging down to the words of the soul.
I know why the first snow in November causes a delight. White covers the dull. A heavy snow refreshes a dying landscape, covering the signs of death. White brightens the day. The snow can stay too long, but the first one, I don't think of that, only a change.
The days will get longer again. November only brings a haunting of good bye. I am grateful, though, for the rest, the creativity of this time of year.
Wednesday, November 6, 2013
Tuesday, November 5, 2013
Teddy's Law Tuesday
Child abuse brought home last week as a grammy's tears welled up when she related the abuse of the granddaughter who lives with her now. The father hurled insults and punches at the mother. The mother didn't possess the strength to stop it, until a health crisis brought about the divorce to end the marriage. Grammy kept calm until she mentioned the father made the granddaughter watch inappropriate videos, then the composure collapsed with the tears and sobs.
The granddaughter suffers because the mother never came to her rescue. The mother finds herself in another relationship with the boyfriend starting on the emotional trauma. Because they share the same household now, Grammy steps in this time. She prays her daughter will break off with this man. She speaks plainly to her daughter. She may wish she had done this before. But the question is would the daughter have listened? If we could only know what causes this, maybe mothers could fight it more.
As I read other abuse stories, the theme of a woman choosing a relationship over her children runs through it. Surely, in Teddy's case that is how it happened. A woman's self esteem low enough to think this is right. Grandparents deal with guilt of how did their daughters think this was normal.
Pray for these grandparents who walk the thin line. Open their eyes to see the abuse. Give them courage to fight for their grandchildren. Teddy's Law strengthens this cause. I'm sure the fear they may offend their children, causing a retreat holds them back. The Bible says, "Perfect love casts out fear." We have to live by love, not fear. We must speak up for the children of abuse. All our eyes must be opened.
It is happening in your church, in the schools and in the stores. Watch for the children.
The granddaughter suffers because the mother never came to her rescue. The mother finds herself in another relationship with the boyfriend starting on the emotional trauma. Because they share the same household now, Grammy steps in this time. She prays her daughter will break off with this man. She speaks plainly to her daughter. She may wish she had done this before. But the question is would the daughter have listened? If we could only know what causes this, maybe mothers could fight it more.
As I read other abuse stories, the theme of a woman choosing a relationship over her children runs through it. Surely, in Teddy's case that is how it happened. A woman's self esteem low enough to think this is right. Grandparents deal with guilt of how did their daughters think this was normal.
Pray for these grandparents who walk the thin line. Open their eyes to see the abuse. Give them courage to fight for their grandchildren. Teddy's Law strengthens this cause. I'm sure the fear they may offend their children, causing a retreat holds them back. The Bible says, "Perfect love casts out fear." We have to live by love, not fear. We must speak up for the children of abuse. All our eyes must be opened.It is happening in your church, in the schools and in the stores. Watch for the children.
Monday, November 4, 2013
Worship
I'm grateful for God's timing. I looked at my checking account history and though my royalty check was not for a great amount, it gave me wiggle room until my nursing home world paycheck was deposited.
This morning, this song http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pNq5n-Fu8z0 is playing through my mind.
I need to worship. I hope you will, too.
I remember writing about November in Connecticut. I haven't searched for those journals, yet. November first one year, I ranted about the dark month of November. It came in with rain and the sun set forty five minutes earlier in the east than in our lingering mid west of western Pennsylvania. I despised November coming and the end of fall.
I have since learned to love this month. I strove to make the whole month a grateful month when my children were young. I wanted it to be more than the one day at the end of the month.
I ranted for a while that some people decorated for Christmas before the holiday of Thanksgiving. One year, I realized if we have nothing else, we have Jesus, who loved us and died on the cross for me and you. For that alone, I am grateful. I need nothing else. And the Christmas decorations never bothered me again. Why should we not celebrate the Greatest's birthday? I don't like the celebration of winter, but that is another story.
Now that I'm even older, I realized this year, that as fast as time seems to be going, summer will be here again. I'm not sure it is just being a "old person," either. My daughter notices the quick passing of time.
November has also came to be NaNoWriMo. A time I hunker down with writing a novel. I became aware of a theme for my novel yesterday during the sermon. I had the opening back in the summer. The characters appeared in dreams along with a plot. Now, they are waiting to be written. No writing yesterday, even with the extra hour. Church, saying good bye to my husband and working consumed my time. I'll get that word count up tomorrow when I'm off. I'll write a little today.
I am grateful today for God's timing in many ways.
This morning, this song http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pNq5n-Fu8z0 is playing through my mind.
I need to worship. I hope you will, too.
I remember writing about November in Connecticut. I haven't searched for those journals, yet. November first one year, I ranted about the dark month of November. It came in with rain and the sun set forty five minutes earlier in the east than in our lingering mid west of western Pennsylvania. I despised November coming and the end of fall.
I have since learned to love this month. I strove to make the whole month a grateful month when my children were young. I wanted it to be more than the one day at the end of the month.
I ranted for a while that some people decorated for Christmas before the holiday of Thanksgiving. One year, I realized if we have nothing else, we have Jesus, who loved us and died on the cross for me and you. For that alone, I am grateful. I need nothing else. And the Christmas decorations never bothered me again. Why should we not celebrate the Greatest's birthday? I don't like the celebration of winter, but that is another story.
Now that I'm even older, I realized this year, that as fast as time seems to be going, summer will be here again. I'm not sure it is just being a "old person," either. My daughter notices the quick passing of time.
November has also came to be NaNoWriMo. A time I hunker down with writing a novel. I became aware of a theme for my novel yesterday during the sermon. I had the opening back in the summer. The characters appeared in dreams along with a plot. Now, they are waiting to be written. No writing yesterday, even with the extra hour. Church, saying good bye to my husband and working consumed my time. I'll get that word count up tomorrow when I'm off. I'll write a little today.
I am grateful today for God's timing in many ways.
Check It Out
My guest post went live on Anita's blog today, well, I guess Sunday. Oh the fun of working afternoon turn.
http://anitamathias.com/2013/11/02/let-love-open-door-guest-post-mollie-lyon/?utm_source=twitterfeed&utm_medium=twitter
http://anitamathias.com/2013/11/02/let-love-open-door-guest-post-mollie-lyon/?utm_source=twitterfeed&utm_medium=twitter
Friday, November 1, 2013
More to the Twenty Two Year Old Mollie
Some more things I'd tell that twenty two year old, sinking into depression in New Hampshire. It's most likely hormones. I see that happening all the time, now. Last week, felt I could hardly move. Today, energized as that cycle is over for who knows how long- ah, the fun of being fifty two and tenacious. I felt great as a month passed and no visit from the old monthly friend, then another, but half way through, well, let's just say, it ain't over yet.
Another word of advice to young Mollie, writing fulfills you. Writing on a lap top is so much easier than even the electric typewriter. Enduring all the documenting nonsense of Sharon Regional Home Health improved your typing skills and getting a computer enhanced the writing time. Yeah, it's fun to write on a tablet with a pen, and you have the original, but maybe you don't really want that, besides clouds aren't just in the sky for your imagination, there is this thing called a cloud to save your writing. Maybe you should have gotten a word processor, but you are busy with children, the best production, always.
I wrote 1793 words last night between midnight and two AM. Not just words but the scattering of the beginning of a story. I always want to tell every thing and describe everything in the first draft. So I run with the story, then think, "Oh, I want to describe that more, but I don't want to bog down the story." It's like my driving, I either fly or want to stop every where.
I'm pleased with my progress so far, because I'm off and I can write in several more sessions today. The day can build up my word count for those days I may be only able to write a few paragraphs. I love writing, but not so much at night. I got weary in the body. NaNoWriMo excitement to hurl out the gate possessed me. I sat right here on my couch and punched away. The idea is not to edit, but I did anyway. I wrote twenty two more words as I glanced over what I wrote.
The wind howled through the night. I could sense the sunshine this morning as I woke in our darkened bedroom- something I'll change some day. Windy and fifty four degrees hasn't budged since nine AM. Sunshine played through the clouds and lifted my spirit. The cat jumps at the chance to catch a leaf as they blow by the window. Now, the sky is covered with solid gray and I wonder when I walk today will I be caught in the rain.
My husband got a later start. I had planned on a noon walk anyways before he arrives home, but since that will be later, I'll see if the wind pushes these clouds along. Still fifty four degrees.
Sure looks like November now. Be grateful. Today, I'm grateful for laptops.
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