4 Line Poetry - Volcano

Marc's Daily Writing Practice - 4 Line Poetry

The exercise:
It's four line poem day once again. This time around your topic is: the volcano.

Score another one for Mother Nature.
Marc:

They feel safe, it's been so long
Since I have woken;
But they've forgotten - I sleep
With one eye open.

Mine:
Mother nature & Human nature-not so different.....

Deep inside my belly, my core
Rumblings of red hot anger ascend;
I erupt, spewing molten words of bitterness
And subside into the gloom and darkness of guilt

Salynne ©2010

4 Line Prose - The Best Medicine

Marc's Daily Writing Practice - Friday, April 16, 2010

The Topic for your 4 Line Prose this week is: the best medicine.

Marc's:

Good afternoon everyone, and thank you for making time in your busy schedules to join us.

We here at Jester Laboratories have some very exciting news to share with you today. What you are about to see is the culmination of twenty years of lab testing, field research, divorces, great leaps forward, and soul destroying setbacks.

But we are all in agreement that it was worth every sleepless night to reach this moment when we are finally able to say: Ladies and gentlemen, we are proud to present to you… Laughter in a BottleTM

Mine:

Curled up in a big comfy chair with a hot cup of tea sitting on a side table.
Jane Austen’s Pride & Prejudice sits open on my lap.
My eyes see words but my mind takes me into a world of refinement, beauty, and simpler times.
The very best medicine for a stressful life.

Salynne ©2010

Doing the Grind-The Olympics

Today I was able to attend my first Grind Writers group although the location turned out to be a different because of the Olympics. I met a number of other very creative individuals and was very inspired by each of their stories. Some people are just trying to add more writing into their lives, several are working on books and one writes for a living. It is my hope that I will be able to attend regularly.

We started with a 15 minute free-write on the prompt The Olympics and this was my offering.

For some people the Olympics must be everything. They'll go to a number of the sporting events, their hearts will swell when they hear the national anthem and someone from our country gets gold. Twenty years from now they'll say to their kids, "Remember when the Olympics were on and we did this or that.."

In contrast I find that my life is never defined by these big events and that I remember them in the context of what I'm doing or where I am. Thirteen years ago I was sitting by my daughter as she lay dying in a children's hospice and while watching TV a newscaster came on to explain that Princess Diana had died. Over the next few days people took flowers to the British Consulate & because there were so many of these expressions of grief they started taking bouquets to old folks homes and places like the hospice. I arranged vase after vase and filled every room including my daughters with them. Two weeks later when she had died I threw out all of the fading blooms in a symbolic gesture. That is what I really remember about the time when the Princess Diana tragedy unfolded.

Last week, when the world was glued to their TV's or standing in the streets of Vancouver, waving and cheering on the Olympic torch as it made the final leg of its journey I sat across from my girlfriend in a local chemo treatment room. She sat on a leather recliner with her arm outstretched on a tray while poisonous chemicals ran into her veins. I looked around the room at all of the other people there for treatment; young and old sat there, proof that cancer doesn't discriminate.

The TV was on and some people watched the event, others were too distracted by the book they had brought or were sitting with their eyes closed. Suddenly the news broke through and it was announced that a young man doing a training run for the luge had died. Everyone in the long line of chairs seemed to come out of themselves, the staff stood still and we all turned our eyes to watch in silent horror as the fellow careened down the chute and flew off his sled into a pole. Involuntary sounds of shock and dismay passed from every person watching.

The room was dead quiet and no one moved for a time but then the nurses began checking chemo bags and IV's, machines started beeping and we were all pulled back to the reality of what was happening in the room. My friend tugged on her hat, pulling it lower to hide the fact that her hair was starting to fall out again. The gentleman two seats over looked up at his chemo bag, sighed and grimaced, clenched and unclenched his hand and shut his eyes. Another young man adjusted his Ipod and turned back into his world of music and song.

It occurred to me then that every cancer patient in that room was like an Olympic athlete fighting for the gold; Remission. Others, like myself, were there to cheer them on in their struggle. Some will win and their lives will carry on and some sadly will not. And twenty years from now when I'm talking to my children about this time I know I'll have a different view than many others. "Remember when my friend was going through Chemo and the Olympics were on?"

Salynne ©2009

Info on Grind Writers: The Grind Café Writers' Group - Vancouver
Meets every 2 weeks (alternating on Saturdays and Sundays) at the Grind Gallery Café, 4124 Main Street @ King Edward Ave (25th Ave). 10 am to 12:30 pm. Writers of all ages, stages, genres, genders, orientations & outlooks are welcome. We write at every meeting, so bring pen & paper or your laptop. Occasionally we do move the venue, so please email before you come to your first meeting, or if you have any questions, email Margo - wonderwords@shaw.ca.

How to Avoid Camera Loss

I found something surprisingly practical that tickled my funny bone today and I thought I would share it with you.

Andrew McDonald shares in his blog how he uses a pictorial guide to avoid camera loss. Enjoy!
http://www.andrewmcdonald.net.au/a-pictorial-guide-to-avoiding-camera-loss/

Now I've got to get the camera out and take some photos!


Salynne ©2009

Therapy for Archaeologists

On Saturday I checked out The One Minute Writer and found the prompt to be Archaeologist. My thoughts first turned to Egypt and far-away places but then I started thinking about what I have spent the last week doing--digging deeper into the places in my soul. The concept struck a cord and I decided to combine that into a little therapy session for myself--it actually worked wonders and I think I saved myself several hundred dollars!





Therapy for the Archaeologist

“Ok,” my red-haired therapist said, “Let’s dig a little deeper. How did you feel after your daughter died?”

“The emotional pain was so intense that I thought I would die. In fact, my heart started physically hurting. My doctor did a lot of tests but in the end it proved to be anxiety,” I said, tears welling up in my eyes.

“It’s not uncommon for parents who’ve lost children to go through physical symptoms. In reality, you had a broken heart, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” I sobbed. “It was so broken. It just laid there in pieces, until I came to see you.” I looked at her through the distortion that the tears in my eyes created.

“And over the time we spent together you picked up those pieces and put them together. I don’t know if I’ve used the analogy before but you were like an archaeologist who finds the remnants of a very precious vase. He picks up the pieces up carefully in his hands and over time glues it back together until it is whole again. It was hard work then to fit together and mend your heart but you did do it.

“It’s true, Angie,” I sniffed. “ I did put things back together, but it’s been ten years and lately I feel as though the glue holding everything has come apart, and I don’t know what to do."

“Well, you are archaeologist of your life. If something precious like your heart has fallen apart into pieces then you need to pick those pieces up carefully in your hands and very tenderly brush off any dust or dirt. You need to spend time and focus on putting things back together. It sounds as though this would be a good time to focus on you and treat yourself with care and gentleness.”

I nodded and looked down at the remnants of the shredded wet Kleenex in my hand. “When I was going through the worst of it I used to get up in the night so I could be all alone and write. I would write for hours, about what was happening in my life, how I felt about it and what I was going to do about it. Those moments were a commitment to take care of myself and they helped me sort things out.”

“So it sounds like maybe you need to do some writing again then?"

I sat quietly and thought for some time before I spoke. “Yes. I have been writing just not that kind of writing. I’m working on a lot of projects, some short stories I want to submit to magazines and I’m even labouring on two novels; but I think the problem is that I’ve stopped writing things about me, just FOR me. I need to write for me. I like the analogy you used—it’s like I should take a shovel and dig down into the dirt to find those parts of myself. Writing sorts out the pieces and helps me make sense of them and put them back together.”

“That’s a really great observation and I think something a lot of people could learn from.” Angie looked at me and smiled. “Our time is up for today, would you like to book an appointment for next week?”

“Let’s make it a month,” I said, my tears starting to dry. “I’ve got a lot of sorting and putting things together to do.”

“Ok, well the session today will be $500.00; will that be cheque or credit card?”

“Hmmmm...would you take a couple of old beaten up relics that I found while cleaning out my garage? It’s mostly some of my husband’s stuff from his school years and according to him it’s pretty precious.”

“Ha,ha” laughed Angie. “Just remember you may be the archaeologist but I’m the therapist. How did you want to pay?”


Salynne ©2009

The Gaudy Towel - A Family Legacy & Inheritance

We attended a very important wedding last week. The best friend of our older daughter who passed away got married. Our daughter would've been 20 in June and this young woman will be turning that age in October. It was a lovely wedding, she was stunningly beautiful and although watching her walk down the aisle tugged at my heart strings I was not as emotional as I thought I would be. We did however, want to give this young woman and her new husband something extremely special, something that would reflect the very dear place she has in our hearts.

I did go to several stores searching for the perfect gift but I realized nothing would really fill the bill. Because of her relationship with our daughter we really wanted to give her something that was a family legacy or inheritance. And then I thought back 26 years and realized the idea for the perfect gift was under our nose the whole time.

When my husband and I got married we were given a very unique gift and along with it a newspaper article explaining the gift. I lost that original article years ago so decided to write a story based on our personal experience that has a similar flavour to what I remember. I placed this story in with the gift.


The Gaudy Towel – A Family Legacy & Inheritance

At one of the showers held before our wedding my fiancée handed me one of the carefully wrapped gifts. I tore off the paper to find a rather large and shockingly bright purple towel. I was more than a little perplexed and I suspect that I had a rather horrified look on my face as I stared in disbelief at this particular endowment. Purple was definitely not an “in” colour at that time and what was even more confusing was that this had come from a well-respected family friend who knew my green and cream bathroom decorating plans. I was quite frankly horrified at her lack of taste but smiled and nodded my thanks. She looked at me across the room and smiled knowingly, “Don’t worry you’ll find a use for it.” I truly thought that she had gone off her rocker.

The towel was moved with the rest of our shower and wedding gifts into our new apartment. I put the bright monstrosity on the bottom of the linen closet underneath all of my nice new plush matching bath sheets. I even remember feeling a little hurt that my friend could have miscalculated so badly in her choice of a gift.

Two months later my husband got up in the middle of the night, went to the washroom and flushed the toilet. It started to overflow and before he could stop it some of the water cascaded onto the bathroom floor. His yelling for me to get a towel brought me out of my sleep and I bounded up out of our warm bed and yanked open the linen closet. The thought of using one of my gorgeous new towels to sop up the mess was nauseating. Then I remembered the purple towel.

It did the job it was needed for very effectively and I remember saying to my husband rather sarcastically that my friend would have been horrified it she had known what we had used her “precious” towel for. The next day I thought about tossing the hideous thing out altogether but somehow it found its way to the washing machine and back into the bottom of the linen closet.

The next time I thought of the purple towel was when the cat threw up a hairball and we were all out of paper towels. The mess was cleaned up easily and I again thought about my friend. The towel got washed and was put back into the bottom of the closet. Over the next few years it made its appearance when we washed and buffed the car, served as a blanket on the beach and generally always proved to be around whenever there was a messy emergency of some kind. Each time we used it I thought of my friend.

After we had children we found many more uses for the gaudy towel. Always ready and willing, it wiped up accidents and messes, got set on the back seat of the car when bathing suits had wet sandy bums, dried wet dogs and was used as a hobo sack on a stick for dress up. No longer a screaming bright colour by this time, our towel began to look more like an old wrinkled grape that suffered from at least one bleach spot and a couple of dark stains. Around this time I began to think that there might be something really special about this unusual gift. So many of the other wedding presents we had received sat in the back of cupboards and if you asked me who gave us something I couldn’t have told you. Our gaudy towel however was always handy and in use, always in “bad” style, and it never failed to make me think of my friend. This was especially important because by that time she had passed away.

When we hosted our own twenty-fifth wedding anniversary dinner and dance I packed up our now rather threadbare and thin faded purple friend into the car along with the paper plates and other items for the party. I knew that I could depend on it should it be needed. Several months later the towel got its first hole and then another appeared and another so I finally tore the cloth into pieces and put it into the rag bag for use when painting or cleaning.

The next time we had a large spill I stood in front of the linen closet and did not know what to do, which towel to grab. In the end I used the oldest towel I could find but it just wasn’t the same and I swear it didn’t work as well as our old faithful companion had. Later that day I determined to set out and acquire another resident for our linen closet, something really hideous to take the place of our friend’s precious gift. My search took some time but I was finally successful in finding a rather grotesque multi-coloured towel that didn’t match anything that we had. It brought me the greatest pleasure to fold this bright new eyesore and put it under all of the plush matching bath sheets and towels.

Today I know and understand the true value of the simple gift that we were bestowed with. It may have only been a piece of cloth but it was filled with wisdom and love. Truly it was a legacy that kept on giving and giving. So today on your wedding day we want to pass on this special family inheritance and story on to you.

Within this wrapping you will find a new specially selected gaudy towel. May it be a colour and design that is horrendously ugly to you and we hope that it does not match anything you have or like. May it serve you well and be there for you whenever you need it. May you always remember that woven into the fabric is the love and special place we hold for you in our hearts.

Salynne ©2009

Daily Writing Practice - The Deadbeat

Thanks again to Marc for my inspiration today:
http://daily-writing.blogspot.com/

Alrighty, today I'm going to provide you with the first line of your poem or prose and then you get to take it from there. Sound good?Okay, here it is: The streets were thick with fog...Go!


The Deadbeat
The streets were thick with fog and Phineas wandered aimlessly. He drew his thin wool coat closer and his gnarled arthritic hand tried to hold the collar closed. Stupid, crap thumb that couldn’t bend to hold anything, bugger arthritis, and now he was faced with this confounded damp mist. None of it made life any easier.

It was a typical English side street lined with brick row houses and if he squinted he could make out a succession of off–duty black taxi’s sitting at the curb. It was early in the morning before the majority of people got up but it really could have been any time of day because the pea soup murk imprisoned any chance the sun had to proliferate its rays. The roads were empty and the city was relatively quiet although Phineas could hear the murmur of traffic from one of the major arteries several blocks away. His eyes scanned the pavement below and watched his own black shabby shoes taking step after step. He looked up.

The glare of the computer screen burned his eyes. The typed words on the paper captured what he had been seeing in the world that inhabited his head this morning. It was now 4:30 am and Phineas realized he’d been sitting at the computer for at least an hour. His body clock had gone out of whack several weeks ago and it seemed that he was waking up every morning around 3 o’clock. Sometimes he was able to turn over and go back to sleep, other times when he could not settle he got up so as not to disturb his wife and went downstairs to the office to do work or to write.

This morning when he’d finally gotten up after tossing and turning for what felt like hours he decided he was going to start a novel. It would be great; he had the outline, plot and characters in his head. He’d obviously been writing and typing for some time, but where had the time gone? Had he been walking the foggy street for all of that time? Had he drifted off to sleep sitting in front of the computer and dreamed what he had seen. He closed his eyes and put his fingers onto the keyboard.

When he opened his eyes again the fog was still there and he was continuing to walk down the middle of the deserted street. His footsteps did not echo but each stride created a dull thud that was swallowed by the weight of the grey mist. Inside of his jacket the newspapers that were carefully folded and packed to stave off some of the frigid damp that would irritate the rheumatism in his left shoulder shifted slightly.

A sudden searing pain stabbed him in the chest and he felt his left arm go limp and numb. What was going on? Staggering slightly Phineas put his right hand onto the boot of one of the cabs on the side of the road. He needed to find a place to sit down and rest. Yes, rest would be a good thing. He tried to kneel down slowly but his arm gave way and his knees slammed into the edge of the sidewalk and he toppled forward. Fortunately, his reflexes seemed to kick in and at least he got his gnarled hands down in front of him. After his body slammed into the pavement his head made a rather slow gentle decent to the smooth, cold hard cement. His eyes closed and he lay still. The crushing pain in his chest was now like a vice grip and his breath came in short gasps.

Phineas opened his eyes. The computer screened glowed, his fingers still sat on the keyboard. He read the words on the page. “The crushing pain in his chest was now like a vice grip and his breath came in short gasps.” His eyes moved to look around the office but his hands remained motionless; he was looking out of his eyeballs but it was a physical impossibility to get his limbs to move. He was imprisoned by his body.

The gripping agony in his chest throbbed rhythmically; he could hear an erratic heartbeat in his ears. He looked at his lifeless numb right arm and started to feel a rising sense of panic. What’s going on? Am I having heart failure or what? This doesn't make sense, how can I be dying? It’s my character that is dying, not me.

He shut his eyes to block out the light and felt the damp cool surface of the concrete on his cheek. Looks like I’m snookered. I’m homeless, alone, and I’m going to die right here on the street. Well, what did it matter really? After he’d lost his job, his wife & family and then his apartment he’d been going from shelter to shelter and had only a fortnight ago found a cardboard box which he dragged to the atrium of a local church. He was rather surprised to have woken these past mornings as he fully expected that he would become just another statistical displaced person who died from hypothermia.

A heart attack was not something he’d counted on but everybody had to go sometime and he guessed it was his time. It would only be a few minutes now, he calculated, before his heart would cease its crazy, irregular palpitations and everything would stop. Nothing would matter soon; not the age of his body, the damp, the cold, the trembling in his hands or the holes in soles of his shoes. He felt his consciousness slipping and the bright light of the computer hurt his eyes. Slowly everything started going black whether his eyes were open or not.

The last thing Phineas heard was a piece of machinery coming to life. Now, was that the sound of one of the taxi’s starting or the cooling fan of a computer? Then again, did it matter?

Salynne ©2009

5 Line Prose - Tied Up in Knots

My offering for Mark's Friday 4 Line Prose....

Having pressed the doorbell Jim stood on the porch, hands trembling, causing the corsage held between his two sweaty palms to shake. A dog began to bark inside the house and as the door began to open, his eyes moved from the knob to the classic beauty standing before him. His stomach felt tied up in knots and when he swallowed he wasn’t sure if it was his lunch coming back up or his Adams apple getting stuck in his throat. There must be some mistake, he thought. Her SeniorsDatingNet.com profile said she was seventy-two but she certainly didn't look a day over sixty-five.

Salynne ©2009

*Some Names Have Been Changed - The Phone Call

Salynne was wiping a thin film of drywall dust off of her kitchen cupboards.
"Infernal crap" she said under her breath.

The fine powder had been settling every day since the mud & tape workmen had sanded the walls in the basement and she had dutifully wiped down most surfaces when it became noticeable. Salynne, her husband David and daughter Eliza had been feverishly working on their home trying to get it ready for sale. David had applied for a transfer to Kamloops but there had been political posturing going on between the company and the union so the decision had been delayed. It had been over a month since anyone had returned David's calls and the entire family had come to the conclusion that perhaps the time wasn't right for the move after all.

The phone rang and Salynne reached to pick up the handset. "Hello".

"Hi Hon," said David. "The union rep called me a few minutes ago and they are still considering our case. They understand that we have a difficult situation and that my parents both have health conditions. The issue is the original Doctor's letter; it wasn't strong enough and therefore we have to get my Dad into another specialist and the letter has to be specific in diagnosis along with a timeline for his condition."

"It's too bad its taken such a long time for us to know that. It often takes months to get into see a specialist."

"Well, I think there are ways to work around that so I'll call my parents & see what we can do. The best part is that both the company and union are sympathetic to our case, they just need further documentation."

"So our case is not dead." Salynne sighed, "It's not dead then. So we go forward."

"Yup. It looks like Eliza will be starting school here unless I can work some kind of a miracle and get my Dad an appointment & the letter to the company next week. Still we may not be able to do something overnight-it might take months."

"I'd like to think that if this is supposed to work out it will happen quickly; we have to consider that this is the best time of the year to sell the house so the sooner we can get something in writing the better. I'll talk to Eliza, you call your parents and I guess we'll see where things go from here."

They said their goodbyes and Salynne sat down on one of the kitchen breakfast bar stools. She put her head into her hands and massaged her scalp. "At last", she said out loud and then continued in her thoughts, "something is happening, something will happen." She knew she would sleep better that night.

"Eliza, are you in your room?", Salynne yelled. "I need to talk to you."

She opened the laptop that sat on the counter. As soon as she'd told her daughter what was going on, she decided, she would leave the dust to its own devices and write a blog to let all of her friends know what was happening. It was rather bad timing as she had just posted to her blog before she started the housework and she really didn't want to publish a second post. Thankfully, the blog site allowed her to schedule her postings.

"Hmmm....Saturday, August 29th. 8:33 am. That sounds like as good a time as any. At least I know what I'll be posting tomorrow." Salynne looked up from the screen and smiled as Eliza came down the stairs.

Salynne ©2009

Eskimos and Rainbows

Marc's Daily Writing Practice. He's written for 400 days and that inspires me!
Here is my comment and story that was inspired by his prompt Eskimos and Rainbows.
Be sure to check out his poem too!
http://daily-writing.blogspot.com/

Marc-Congratulations on 400 days! You're an inspiration to those of us who hope to get there ourselves.

Your prompt totally inspired me the moment I read it and I knew instantly that I had to write down a story based about something that happened in my childhood. Funny though how your poem is not far off from my experience and perhaps its a coincidence but today I'm supposed to painting my bathroom instead of writing.....Hope you enjoy...


Emily was four and a half years old. Clad in her puffy little snowsuit and sparkly fuchsia skidoo boots she looked like a miniature pink version of the Michelin man. Her pink scarf wrapped around her head so that only her eyes showed and she toddled rather walked from the front door of her home towards the snow fort she and her older brother had built the day before.

In Emily’s mind she was not Emily, the little girl who lived at 242 Gladmoren Park in Regina, Saskatchewan. She knew where she lived that was for sure. Her mommy and daddy were so happy and proud that she could recite her address and on normal, everyday days, she was Emily who lived at 242 Gladmoren Park in Regina, Saskatchewan. Today though was a special day and she wasn’t Emily at all; she was Anuk the Eskimo living at the North Pole.

She bent down and crawled through the entrance of her frosty little home. The room was not large but big enough to fit her and her ten year old brother, John. They had spent almost the entire day yesterday burrowing into one of the large snow banks at the edge of the yard. John had smoothed the inside of the igloo fort, created a couple of stools for sitting on and had even poked a stick through the wall to create a small window. Today John was at school which made Emily sad because she wasn’t old enough to go there yet. “Next year”, mommy said. “You’ll go to school when it is fall time and the leaves turn orange and red.” It wasn’t fall time today, Emily thought. This was winter because there was lots of bright, white snow and there were no leaves on the trees and that meant that John was at school and she had to play by herself today.

The sun shone boldly through the little opening and illuminated the all white décor of her North Pole home. Emily perched herself on one of the stools and then with her mitten clad hand reached into her pocket, clasped the hard irregularly shaped object within and slowly drew it out. Her grandma’s rhinestone brooch lay in her palm. Grandma had given it to her for her dress up box and she had told Emily it had magical powers. Slowly and very carefully so as not to drop her precious cargo she moved her hand into the beam of light.

Sparkling jewelled colors burst around the room; rainbows of blue, green, red and purple splashed everywhere across the walls, the floor, across Emily herself. The colours danced and moved covering every surface. Anuk the Eskimo’s eyes sparkled as brightly as the colours surrounding her, her lips parted in a smile and her head titled back as she laughed in delight at what a clever little girl she was to paint her igloo in magic rainbows.

Salynne ©2009

*Some Names have been Changed

Salynne's husband David* handed her the sheet of paper and gave her a tight lipped smile. The letter had an unfamiliar doctors letterhead on it and the words on the page did not portend good things. The first paragraph described how Allen*, Salynne's father-in-law, was having memory issues and that a brain scan showed degeneration. Alzheimer's was no longer a guess but a reality. Marina*, his wife, after a myriad of tests and an EKG, showed signs of stress and a weakened heart muscle. The conclusion summed everything up by saying that these two elderly people were definitely needing assistance and support and would continue to do so.

Her hands shaking slightly, Salynne sat down on the chair in her dining room and placed the paper on the table. "So, I guess its final then". She flashed a glance at the expectant look on her sixteen year old daughter, Eliza's* face.

"Yes, is looks like it." said David. "The company and the union have agreed to give me a compassionate move in light of everything that we're going to be facing. We should be in Kamloops by September 1st and Eliza should be able to start Grade 11 in her new school. This isn't exactly the way I thought we would get back to my home town though. Somehow I'd always imagined that we would move there only when we retired. "

"I know what you mean, but we have been wanting to go back there for over twenty years. It's true its not the way we thought it would be but we've got friends there and it will be so much easier to care for your parents."

"Yes, but how are you feeling about giving up your job here?"

"We've talked about that before and I am really ready to move on." Salynne reflected for a moment on their oldest daughter who had died over ten years earlier and how her experiences as the mother of child who'd used the hospital system had prepared her for her current position. "Working at the hospital has kept me connected to Raven* on certain levels but I feel I'm at a point in my life where I'm wanting to grow and change. Sometimes I've felt that my work has drained me so much emotionally that I don't have anything left to give to either you or Eliza."

Eliza spoke up, "It hasn't been that bad Mom, but I think a change would be good for us all. I'm looking forward to spending some time with my friends there and I'm kind of excited about making some new friends. There are things I'm unsure about but on the whole I think moving will be a good thing."

"Too true. With selling our house here we'll be able to buy something that can meet our needs in Kamloops and it may be that with the reduction in our mortgage I may not have to work at all!" said Salynne with a twinkle in her eye. "Can you imagine me as a lady of leisure?"

"Somehow I don't think that will happen" laughed David. "You have too many dreams and too much energy to just sit on your butt all of the time. Somehow I can't see you being on the next installment of "The Real Housewives of Kamloops".

"Hey mom, that would be really funny. Can't you just see a camera man following you around as you go to your weight watchers meetings or shopping at Value Village? It could be a whole new reality show!"

"Ok, you two, enough. I think you're right though, sitting around and doing nothing isn't my style. A change is in order. Maybe I'll work in a bookstore or spend some more time writing and getting published. I kind of feel like the whole world is opening up before us and our choices are endless. Who knows what lies ahead."

"Well, I know what's coming for the next month, that's for sure". David put one hand down and leaned on the kitchen counter; with his other he rubbed his temples. "I've got to finish off whatever renovating we've started on this house and get it ready for sale. By this time next month, let's say August 15th, we'd better be seeing a "For Sale" sign out on the boulevard. At the same time we'll have to travel up to Kamloops and start looking for a house".

"I want a bedroom with a window seat and I'm putting in my order in for a pool. It would be totally, totally awesome to have my friends over for pool parties and even just for hanging out."

Salynne smiled at Eliza. "I'm sure that we can see about the pool-no promises mind you, but I'll find a real estate agent tomorrow and we'll see what we can find in our price range. This whole moving thing; it's exciting and terrifying all at the same time isn't it?"

"Totally", admitted Eliza. David nodded.

"It's like we've been standing in front of a door and waiting. Now, we're reaching out to turn the knob and open the door onto our new lives in Kamloops. I guess the next step, before we actually open the door and step through, is to tie up any loose ends and start packing."

"Well, I don't know about you mom, but the first thing I have to do is tell my friends here that we're moving. You should probably tell yours too."

Salynne let out a sigh. "You're right. I'm not sure how I'll do it though. I guess I could phone everyone individually or email; then again maybe I should write a story in my blog...

Salynne ©2009

Characters-What's in a Name

One of the blogs I follow discussed in the past week how to choose the names of characters. One person commented that they keep a list of odd and unusual names which they then look at when developing a story. Another source suggested a baby name book and if it is a historical name they said census records were very helpful.

I have found that one of my greatest sources is Movie credits. The movie industry has a lot of very interesting people although I do believe some of the names are made up; still this is a rich resource for character names.

For years I've kept a mental list of those interesting names but about a year ago when I decided to keep a character journal I started to include names as well. If I'm having trouble fleshing out an individual in a story then the next best step for me is to choose a name because somehow they then become more “solid”, rounded out and alive.

Another benefit to putting the names down? I feel like I've been able to clear out the cobwebs in my mind and don't have to carry the information around all of the time, afraid that I'll forget something really spectacular. Some of the most interesting names in my journal:

First Names:
Thaddeus
Cyri
Shayni (Gaelic-I almost name one of my daughters this!)
Estin (I just met someone with this name about two months ago!)
Aika Tahu (Moari)
Edryd (Gaelic)
Thomas Astbury
Yolanda
Bevan (Gaelic)
Bailey Hampton
Miguel
Viviane (French)
Xavier
Marius Cornelli
Nekane (Basque)
Godfrey

Surnames:
Parisian
Leger de Fanass
Collinsword
Ballendin
Madelmar
Paxden Dafoe
De Payen
Wrottsley

Do you have any favorites or unusual names that you want to share?

Salynne ©2009

Four Line Friday Pose on Saturday

I was inspired by another blog today-Daily Writing Practice by Marc, a Vancouver writer.

The exercise:
Four Line Friday Prose: keeping count.

My offering:

She falls down on her knees and rams her shaking hands into the crevices of the couch. Angrily she tosses the cushions on to the floor along with the crumbs and crayon. “Something, anything, please”, she screams silently as tears slide down her face. Sitting on the floor she looks into the kitchen at the calendar. Keeping count…day 7, drug free.

Salynne ©2009

The Meeting

Inspired by a fund raiser I attended....

Elena stepped out of the cab onto the sidewalk, gave her name to the concierge and walked up the red carpet into the building. She was scheduled to meet a workmate and one of their clients at this gala fundraiser for the local children’s hospital. It would have been nicer to stay at home, she mused, light some candles and soak in the tub of her newly renovated bathroom. Even so the evening would be filled with fine food, good wine and the small chit chat would pass the time well enough. Besides, the evening was for a good cause.

She spotted him almost immediately when she walked into the foyer. When their eyes met Elena knew that they were both experiencing that certainty of consciousness that comes from knowing each other from some other context, place and time. A smile passed between them and she mouthed the word “Hello”. His blue eyes sparkled and the corners crinkled into crow's feet. His smile widened.

Her attention was drawn away to the coat check and she handed off her scarf and jacket to the attendant. She was not getting that sense of panic that at times comes when you cannot place someone; instead there was a contented satisfaction that his face belonged to someone from her past and there were only positive sensations running through her. He appeared and disappeared in vague flashes of her memory and although there wasn’t enough details to connect the pieces she had a strong sense of conviction that wherever or whenever they had been together it had been a positive, rich experience.

Elena turned and scanned the crowd resting her eyes on the spot where her man of memory had been standing but with all of the jostling and movement he was gone. A movement caught her eye and she smiled as her workmate waved to motion her over to the bar in the large ballroom.

“Elena, Elena, come have a drink”, Anna shouted above the din and the background music as she moved closer.

Elena's attention turned to the art of the trival conversation expected at these types of events and she made her way around the room. She took the opportunity to introduce herself to a few people and before long was totally absorbed in conversation with the person from the marketing company who had designed the event logo. A movement on her right caused her to pause momentarily and lose her train of thought. HE was there, talking with a stunning blonde who tilted her heard and laughed at something he said.

Elena stole a glance at his profile. He was tall, his dark wavy hair had a hint of grey at his temples which set off the pinstripe of his very tailored suit. She took in a sharpe breathe when he looked her way and smiled and she had to work hard to concentrate on what the person in front of her was saying. Thankfully, her conversation finally came to an end and it was then that Elena sensed movement before something soft caressed her arm.

“It’s wonderful to see you again” the rich timbre of his voice in her ear caused a shiver to travel down her neck and through her entire body. She turned to find his eyes inquisitively burrowing deep into hers. He continued, "I know we know each other but I cannot for the life of me remember how or where................."

So how do they know each other? What is Elena wearing? what do you think happens next??

Nov 19, 2008

Salynne Wilde ©2008

A New Book - Diary of a Wedding Planner

You're probably wondering where I've gone. Several pictures will give you an idea. As

You'd think it would be a glamourous job but its been a little...

...to say the least-we're organized & don't have much to do for the actual wedding but its the people you have to deal with! And now to make everything worse I'm...

Yes..sick as a dog. And today I have to clean house & get everything ready for the rehearsal dinner tomorrow.

He may not be my biological son but when ya love someone you want the best for them...but there is a very big part of me that just wants this over.

I have written a little each day however I have not posted it. There is so much advice out there for future authors about writing what you know so I decided that I would start on a new book. It will be similar to the nanny diaries only this will be from a former wedding planners perspective when she puts aside her new career in healthcare to come out of retirement to help plan her son's wedding! The characters will be similar to to those in my own real life...a son who who wants the big dream wedding and the simple country girl who would would rather have a barbeque in the backyard. My son & future daughter-in-law have done what I've told them to do and really have nothing to do this week (most of our stress comes from everyone being sick & relationship issues with other people) but the couple in the book will have a chaotic engagement.

I'll tie in some of the memorable moments from my eighteen years of wedding planning before I "retired"--there is nothing more terrifying for a wedding planner than having a mother of groom dressed in a bright royal blue sequined dress with a blue sequined hat adorned with feathers bearing down on you because she is unhappy-oh and by the way my dress NOT blue; I will never, ever wear royal blue to a wedding. There was the mother who called me the morning of the wedding to tell me and the bride that she would not let her husband, the brides step-father, drive in the limo with the wedding party. She did not like the fact that all of the girls in the party were young and pretty which made her feel old & frumpy. There was the groom that nearly fainted during his vows, the couple who only wanted to pick out their clothes, the band, leave everything else to me and show up at the wedding (that one was fun!), and the little flowergirl who peed herself while walking down the aisle. Last but not least I have to include the life-changing moment when a bride sat with me bawling her head off because the colour of the napkin did not exactly match the colour of her invitation. That was the moment when I looked around and asked myself if there was possibly something more important that I could be doing with my life.

Caio!

Salynne

Wednesday Writing Group Insights

Wednesday's are the day that I attend writing group at work. It's not only a nice break to the day and week but its usually very inspiring and as I found out today can teach you a lot about yourself. Today there were 4 of us and our exercise went as follows:

Step 1: Someone picked a random word & we wrote it down on our sheet of paper
Step 2: Each of us picked a second word & wrote it down on our sheet of paper
Step 3: We passed our papers to the left & wrote our second word on our neighbours sheet. We continued to pass our papers, each time writing our second word on the sheet until our paper came back to us.
Step 4: Each of us picked a third word & wrote it down on our sheet of paper.
Step 5: We passed our papers to the left & wrote our third word on our neighbours sheet. We continued to pass our papers, each time writing our third word on the sheet until our paper came back to us.
Step 6: We now had nine words on our sheet and we had 15 minutes to write poetry, prose or what-have-you based on the words. The real catch? You must use the words in order. The idea is to write & not worry about punctuation or grammar-that can always be fixed later.

The really interesting thing about this exercise was that we all ended up with the same words on our papers but they were all in different order and I found it so interesting and inspiring to see the very different results. Three poems resulted and I wrote prose. Here are the words in my order & my result:

Wildflower
Skylight
Mystic
Battlefield
Seeds
Manic
Oaken
Parsnip
Deadhead

Wildflower stood beneath the skylight in her parents home with the sun streaming down on her and making her warm. This feeling of being alone, an orphan, was new to her; she was now completely on her own.

Her seventy-four year old mother had finally succumbed to pneumonia two weeks earlier on a day that she liked to think had mystic qualities. She thought back fondly to the serenity of the day. As her family was aboriginal Wildflower had requested the elders of their nation preside over her mothers final moments. They smoked the peace pipe and lit sweet grass to ease her passing. As the only progeny of her parents union, Wildflower had fought alone on the battlefield of Alzheimers with first her father and then finally her mother. She was spent and exhausted but she could feel the seeds of change taking root in her heart.

With an almost manic sense of needing to be free she pushed open the oaken door to the back yard. She stepped into the beautiful day and then meandered into her mother's vegetable garden. The parsnips were growing, the tomato's would soon be ready to harvest. The Echinacea plants, her mothers favorite healing herb, stood tall. She deadheaded a few of the purple flowers and held the blooms in her hands. This was a time of healing.

So I wouldn't consider this a fabulous piece of writing but its not bad for thinking on your feet & getting the words in order. Most importantly, I'll take this scene and insert elements in another piece that I'm working on. If there is anything that I'm proud of its the part about having "fought on the battlefield of Alzheimer's" & I will most certainly use that line again.

Perhaps the most important thing I learned from the exercise today is that over the past several weeks I've written a number of times about individuals stepping through doors symbolically to a change or a new life. I laughed when I realized that this parallels my life & is the way I'm feeling about a lot of things. It was an insightful moment.

Why don't you get together with a couple of friends and give the exercise at try. Who knows what personal realizations you might come out with.
©Salynne Wilde 2009