Category Archives: A Writer’s Journey

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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I’m a writer… Juggling is a necessity.

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It’s the life of every working mother, to become the taxi driver. Let’s face it, my son is currently 14, a freshman in high school, and fills his free time with swimming training, archery and scouts, and of course computer games, but I’m not going to talk about those. My 10-year-old daughter, just starting junior high, does ballet, contemporary, scouts, art, kapahaka, and until recently guitar and swimming. And this says nothing of my own activities: writers’ groups, committee meetings, scout leader… (Wait… I’m not a scout leader anymore. I have my Thursday nights back, but I’m sure I’m missing something.) There are days when I don’t know whether I’m coming or going.Read More→

The lights go out, but it’s still the season of cheer

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Winter was upon them and the chill leaked through the walls and windows. The young girl shivered, wrapping herself in the blankets that her mother had laid across her shoulders. The candlelight flickered across the table. She picked up the paintbrush, yellow on its tip. As carefully as she could, she painted the stuffed solider doll.

Every night that week, she had decorated another ornament for the tree that sat in the corner. Every night, it was only a candle that provided the light to see by. Every night, she beamed with pride with another creation hung.

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