Category Archives: A Writer’s Journey

Criticism and Sharing Writing Tidbits

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There are times in our lives when we will come up against naysayers, the ones that want to shoot us down, those that believe we have no right to be where we are. For the most part, these people will be those who we don’t know from a bar of soap, and will likely be the ones to give a writer a negative review. Some will veil personal attacks under the guise of trying to better things for all, but you know the truth. They’re there, so we have to accept it. And for those wanting to be professional writers, criticism is just part of the journey.Read More→

Editing Headaches…

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Editing... The dreaded beast seems to have come to haunt me again. Just when I thought I had finished with this manuscript, there it is again. The revisions just go on, and on, and on, and on... Did I mention that they go on and on?

When you're writing, it's the inner critic that whispers sweet little nothings about self-doubt that just won't go away. If you're anything like me, you type so fast that sometimes your brain struggles to keep up; the spelling goes out the window and the autocorrect monster just gobbles up that carefully chosen word... without you noticing!

But the editor in me can't just let a new piece of writing go unchecked. I always go back and reread what I had written after a break (even a break as short as a toilet break). I see the punctuation errors, the grammar flaws, and the faults in the writing itself. I struggle in a big way to shut off the editor brain long enough to actually do any writing.

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Misinformed Fathers and Aftershocks…

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She sat at the dining room table staring at the laptop. The nerves were shot and she wasn't getting much sleep, but one thing was helping with her mental sanity — her writing. Ironically, the anxiety brought on by the quaky earth fueled the tension of her story.

Her cell phone chimed. It was a message from her father. "Don't worry about clean up at work. It's in the street." Her jaw dropped. Without pause, she flicked over to her web browser and brought up the University of Canterbury website, searching for signs of what her father was talking about. Her heart raced out of control with worry for her colleagues. While she had been working from home when the quake hit, she had been in email communication with those in the lab. She was afraid that one of them had died and she didn't know.

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A New Excuse for Messy Bedrooms — Remembering February 22, 2011

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"Clean your room. You know my rule."

The children bowed their heads, forlorn as a result of their mother's scowl. "Yes, mum. There must always be a clear path from the door to the bed."

It wasn't much to ask for as far as the mother was concerned. It really was just for a matter of safety. But the children went about their chores, knowing the consequences if they didn't. Their mother's wrath was not something anyone wanted to wage war with—and she knew it. Smiling to herself, she left her children to tidy the messes that they called bedrooms.

Sunday afternoon bounded along and it was time for inspection. The son had everything in its place: books on the shelves, desk clear, laundry in the hamper, and the bed made. He had even vacuumed. The daughter… Well… The mess had been carefully stowed away in the cupboards and stacked in unstable piles. The laundry was pushed under the bed and the covers were pulled back to give the false impression of a made bed. The mother shook her head in dismay.

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Mother Earth Roars and We Listen…

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When Mother Earth decides to make her presence known, we must listen.
We humans are nothing but ants on her skin.
She stretches, the ground moves. She roars, and we hear nothing else.

Mother Nature knows when things are not right.
Silence precedes the dog's barking and the sparrow's flight.
Then her mouth opens and the city falls.

Alarms of man overshadow the screams.
The heart races and fear is all you know.
You have no control, just clinging for life, praying for it to end.

Then silence. It's unbearable.
You can't move, waiting for it to strike again.
You know it's coming. You've been through this before.
And it does.

I hear you, dear Mother. Please let me live.

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