“We’re all done,” the technician said, sliding the tube out of the massive chamber.  ”You did great.  You didn’t move at all.  Did you fall asleep?”

“Not exactly,” I said.

I felt so entertwined with the characters, appreciated the fact that they were flawed, yet loveable — so human.  I learned so much about the meaning of flowers, but as a writer I also took note of Diffenbaugh’s masterful use of prose.  She puts the reader right in the middle of every scene.  I felt the anger, the mistrust, the loss, and finally the love.

Vanessa Diffenbaugh hopes her book about, Victoria Jones, a homeless girl, will encourage readers to become inspired and partner with a church group, a women’s group, or other organization to help young people who have no support and no where to go once they leave the foster care system.   Amen.  I hope so too.

Lisbeth

Karen told us how she always felt like she was a poor math student.   An elementary school teacher had told her so, as had her parents. She believed them.  Karen used such clever details.  We could see her sitting in her classroom chewing on the end of her pigtail and see the disappointment on her face when she didn’t have good enough grades to get into several colleges.  Later in life when her husband left her to raise five children, she did go to college and found herself in a math class, scared to death.  Her math teacher, who said no one was bad at math, became her mentor.   Karen colorfully portrayed the relationship she had with this woman and how it changed her life.

Fletcher detailed the day when he was ready to turn in his resignation in the army.  He had made his decision and was ready to move on.  A top-ranking soldier painted a different picture of military life, and after some thought, Fletcher signed on again.  He eventually became a Colonel in the Army.   The soldier who swayed him had changed the course of his life, and a few years later lost his own.

Paul wrote of the time God blinked at he and three other B-24 pilots who almost ran out of fuel.  They were young guys who were not sure how to get to the extra fuel.  They were seven hours from land, flying way above the ocean.  At a last crucial moment, a voice told them to look in the right location on the B-24, and they were able to transfer the fuel.  ”Thank thr Lord,” Paul said.   Even with that Paul said they landed with only about fifteen minutes of fuel left.  He found out later that four other B-24′s on the same mission went down that night.  A fascinating tale.

Lucy detailed her life, how she had earned a teaching degree and gotten her first job.  She had a marvelous mentor, another teacher,  who taught her to always say something positive to her students, to make them feel good about themselves.   From the smile on Lucy’s face it was easy to see that she brightened the lives of her students.

Libbie wrote about a conversation she had with God at age fifteen, when she thought she was dying.  Before that time, she hadn’t known that God was important to her.  But here she was, bargaining for her life.  She made a confession apologizing for skinny dipping in the local pool, gossiping about her friends, not listening in church, telling lies, and for sins she may have omitted.  She promised to stay in touch with God if she could please live.  God winked at her, too.  Since that day, she’s never felt alone.

The more concrete the memoir is the easier it was for us to step inside thesea nd other essays.  The really good memoir is the one you read and it makes you feel like the author is speaking to you.

Stop in again soon.

Two Good Memoirs:

Fierce Attachments by Vivian Gornick and I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings by Maya Angelou

Did I end the New Year revising a chapter so Tessa can move along in my sister’s novel?  No, I have to admit, I did not.  I decided to postpone  penning words until New Year’s Day.  Instead of writing I made up new calendars, paid bills, cleaned out drawers, talked on the phone, played online, — you know, all those things we writers do when we are trying not to sit our butts down in the chair and spit out the words.

And then I went to a movie, “We Bought A Zoo,” with my sweetheart of many moons.  And, what a great movie.  I expected a story about animals.  But no… it’s a dynamite story about people, a family of three, a dad, a son, a daughter, who struggle to mend after the loss of a wife, a mom.  It is based on a true story, and that makes it more genuine.  The little girl is fabulous.  She has some great lines as do the dad and brother.   Okay, enuf about the movie.  Go see it.  You will love it.  If that doesn’t sound like your cup of glog, well then try Mission Impossible.   I understand it has some marvelous chase scenes.

After the movie came dinner.   Scored flounder for me.  I inhaled it as we laughed and joked around with our next-door neighbors, Joyce and Fred.  A fun evening.  We were home in time to smooch at  midnight and ring in yet another new year.  So now it’s here and my fingers are on the keys.  I feel right at home.  I’ve stored up many tales the last few weeks. The words are elbowing one another trying to get out.  Ah, that’s a great feeling.

I’m ready to face the bad stuff along with the good.  As Ernest Hemingway said,  ”Every good writer needs a shock-proof shit detector.”   (I should have requested one from Santa.)  I just read a similar writer’s quote from a book called “Advice to Writer’s:  A Compendium of Quotes, Anecdotes and Writerly Wisdom…” that went something like this: “If you’re working on a novel and you don’t once in a while feel like you just passed a hot turd, you aren’t working hard enough.”  Well, I certainly feel that way at times, so I guess I’ve aced that test.

How about you?

Lisbeth

Second born children are often independent –they tend to leave home.  In my latest chapter,  Tessa, a trailblazer from the Midwest flies to California to follow her dreams, — thinking she’s untied the family cords.  But Miss Tessa’s in for a surprise.  She’ll soon discoverthat the bonds we create with our siblings and parents remain in place no matter how far away we go.   Tessa has always been and undoubtedly will continue to be the family mediator — a common second child trait.  She’s leaving in hopes of avoiding constant family conflict.  What she doesn’t know is that there are a boatload of serious family problems down the road.  And staying with the tradition of many firstborns,  Claudine won’t hesitate to bring Tessa back home to do some negotiating.  I figure that this birth order scenario just may help guide Tessa and Claudine to the finish line.

Does anyone have a birth order scenario to share??  If so, let me know.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Lisbeth

It’s a sunny day here in Savannah.  In just two weeks we have 23,000 runners coming to town for the Rock and Roll Marathon.  Runners get my praise.  You die-hard souls of all ages hit the trails in all kinds of weather, push forward no matter what, with an unwavering dedication.  You go miles and miles day after day reaching personal goals of fitness.  You make it look easy, however I suspect that is a myth.

Just like sitting down to write, my guess is that becoming a runner takes hard work and requires a mountain of discipline.  I’m sure as we writers struggle to keep the creative juices flowing, you runners and bikers, and swimmers, and yes, you marvelous triathletes also must fight numerous temptations to stray from regimented patterns of training.

We writers can relate.  We know how difficult it can be to get to the finish line.  We get that I can’t keep going feeling in the middle of a book.  We think, I’m out of juice.  Why did I think I could do this?  I stink.  I should have taken up gardening.  Whatever made me think I could go down this road?  What was I thinking?  But then, we slink through the rough spots.  I guess for a writer it’s that period when observations start coming out as prose and it all feels so good — all the way to the finish line.

Okay, this was fun to write.  It makes me want to go out for some exercise and then get back to work revising my novel about the sisters, Tessa and Claudine.  It is high time we headed further toward the finish line.

PS:  Kudos to daughter-in-law Kara Thom, a writer and a runner, who is This Month’s Revlon Role Model and co-author of Hot (Sweaty) Mamas: Five Secrets to Life As A Fit Mom. She is featured in a Revlon ad in the October 24 People Magazine.  Way to go Kara.

Lisbeth

My sister, Charlotte, was 15 months older.  Of course, in her eyes she was MUCH older.  When were were little our mother dressed us alike, much to my dismay.   I often had to wear hand me downs from my sister.  When I grew out of my dress or pants outfit, I then had to wear Charlotte’s clothes, perhaps in a different color.  Bummer.  

My sister reigned as the roller skating queen in the neighborhood. She taught all of the neighborhood kids how to skate.  I was her most difficult student.   Her lessons took place on the Jefferson Street hill on the corner, a half block away from our house.  I could skate down the hill — the problem was I had trouble stopping at the bottom.  I had scabs on both knees all summer the year I was in training.   Each evening I got iodine painted on my knees after my bath.

That reminds me of another sister issue.   We’d get called inside at night to take a bath.   The deal was if you went in first, when Nana, our great-grandmother who lived with us, hollered for us from the front porch — you got the clean bath water.  If you were last to come in, you got to skate with the neighborhood kids longer, but you got the dirty bath water.  Charlotte usually said, “You go first.”  Most of the time, I did just to keep her from throwing a fit.  The truth is, I rather liked the clean bath water.

It’s fun to think back to those years.  Over the years, I had a lot of fun with my sister.   We shared many good times, had many great conversations, played cards until all hours, agreed, disagreed, laughed and cried together.  We married and lived far apart, but we stayed in close touch with phone conversations and visits.   Our children got to know one another.   Life moved on.  We mourned the loss of our mother together.  And then one day I got a phone call from my niece — my sister was gone, too.  A car accident.  The news knocked the wind out of me.  I wondered what would I do without Charlotte in my life?

I stumbled around in a daze for a while, then realized that I had to keep my chin up, move on with my life, and carry along  my special memories.  I can still picture my sister’s fun, smiling face, and hear her laughter.   She was one unique gal. 

So, here’s to you, Charlotte.   Keep an eye out.  I’ll see  you someday when I cross over the bridge.   And if you are giving lessons of any kind, you know, like maybe how to flutter wings, or how to skate on clouds, whatever.  I’m getting in your line.  Sign me up — go ahead, pre-register me.

_________________________________

For all of  you readers who are lucky enough to have a sister, don’t forget to get in touch with your sister during National Sister week.  Thanks for stopping by.  Lisbeth

In Chapter 17, Tessa has a disastrous experience during her first week of college and is now highly suspicious of all males.   After a short downhill slide, she gets involved in her classes and campus life and is able to move on.  By Christmas break, she’s learned to love  her freedom.  Back at home, she gets immediately slapped in the face by her controlling mother.  She feels her independence slip away.  She turns to her sister for support but Claudine, too involved with her dominating husband, ignores her.   Tessa is ready to give up on her family.  She can’t wait to get back to her dorm.

Tessa and Claudine are drifting farther and farther apart.  They are at a fork in the road.  I’m just hoping I can figure out a way to get these sisters on the same page again. 

I have read several good sister stories. Does anyone have a sisters’ novel to recommend to me?  I’m always looking for another good book to read.

Stay cool.  Lisbeth

As for writing, I’m still revising my novel, Tessa and Claudine.   (This appears to be a lifetime project.)  I’m also starting to write birthday poems for my twin granddaughters, McKenna and Kendall for their August birthdays.  Each year, I write a poem as a birthday present for my nine grandchildren. (4 boys, 5 girls)  The poems include tidbits information about each child.  At age fourteen, they receive a hardbound book with a copy of their poems that also includes a photo on each page.   They look forward to receiving their poems each year and love it when they are old enough to read their poem.   Granddaughter Rachel turns 14 in August, so will receive her poetry book. this year.

My daughter-in-law, Kara, told me that Kendall, took her poem to her first grade class to share this year when she was VIP person for the week.   The older grandchildren have also shared their poems at school, so it has turned out to be quite a rewading  project. 

Their poetry books become a great way to look back andd remember the fun things the children said and did at different ages.  I give them a copy and keep one for myself. 

Enjoy your summer.  Do some fun writing.  Do give the cabbage salad a try, and let me know how you liked it.

Lisbeth 

Oriental Cabbage Salad

 one ten oz. pkg. chopped cabbage

½ c. salted sunflower seeds

1/2 c. toasted, slivered almonds

1 pkg. Ramen noodles crushed (No need to use the noodle flavoring packet)

1 bunch chopped, green onions

 Mix these ingredients and add 2/3  cup of Kraft Light Asian Toasted Sesame salad dressing right  before serving.  (You can add a bit more if you prefer.)

At the moment, I’m fine-tuning Chapter 16 and am about ready to tackle Chapter 17.   In Chapter 16, I cut a few scenes down in size when I felt I’d stepped out of the narrative.  I keep a sign by my computer reminding myself not to add anything that doesn’t move the story forward.  A writing instructor once told me, “If you’re writing about an Indian, remove everything that doesn’t  relate to the Indian.”   

I love it when I can read along and feel like I am simply telling myself a story.  I hate it when I discover that I’ve added narrative simply to explain things to the reader.  That means it is time for more chopping.

In chapter sixteen, soon after Tessa arrives on the huge University of Illinois campus as a freshman, she faces an experience that throws her into a tailspin.  I’m working carefully to let the reader feel the depth of  her emotion.   I want to show her vulnerability and also her strength.   She has plenty of hurdles left to jump over.   She can’t fall apart now.    

Revising is a challenge but every day I tell myself, ”Okay, your characters are waiting, sit your butt on the chair.”

June is coming soon.  Stop in and say hello. 

Lisbeth