Success

At the beginning of this month I wrote about setting a goal:

• This year my goal is to write 1000 words per day. I set the goal on December 6th--okay, so that was still in the year of 2011, however, why quibble? I set the goal and so far, 33,369 words later, in less than a month, I am have reached a halfway mark on completing another manuscript.

This morning I wrote, The End, and closed the file. I will open it back up tomorrow and start the revising/rewriting process tomorrow. But 55,266 words later I met one goal--I kept at it, writing some days 1-3k words and other days struggling a bit.


Another writer I know shared a website 750words.com where a writer can write and not share his or her words. But there are built in rewards in the program. I have also been writing there every day since I found the website. I have managed to come up with three story ideas there, and copied and pasted them to a story idea file. So writing, creating the habit sometimes yields surprising results.

By no means does this mean the ideas and words will always flow because I'm doing this, but it is helping me right now. Is it Nora Roberts who has said, "You can't revise a blank page," or something like that?

So I write. Some of the words are dreck, but those are words that will never see the light of day. At least that's my hope. ;-)

Setting New Goals--Skipping Resolutions...

...Or should it be, Skipping Resolutions--Setting New Goals?

I seem to have a problem with remembering this blog. I write hit and miss here and would like to 'hit' more than 'miss' this year. However I will resist making a resolution about writing a new blog X number of times per month. For me, making a resolution is the best way to fail.

What is it about resolutions that create an automatic failure for me? I'm not sure, but years of failing to make it through January without bombing out on each resolution has taught me to look at making one goal for the year.

This year my goal is to write 1000 words per day. I set the goal on December 6th--okay, so that was still in the year of 2011, however, why quibble? I set the goal and so far, 33,369 words later, in less than a month, I am have reached a halfway mark on completing another manuscript.
So my goal for this year is to write 1K a day and try a blog a month.

Wish me luck!

Journaling

Years ago someone got me started with journaling. I kept my faithful journal in a 3-inch-3-ring binder. I still have several full binders. I was given the binder suggestion for the simple reason it was easier to add cards we received. We could add dreams, newspaper or magazine articles, anything that spoke to us could be added into this type of journal.

Since I had been keeping dream journals already for several years--I liked the idea of an expanded journal. This journaling suggestion came a few hears after I had my child with Down syndrome. I soon started writing articles about living with SC for our local Down syndrome newsletter. All of this was really an extension of my journaling.

Why am I thinking of this now? For some reason I have been reluctant to blog. But what is blogging? In some ways it is another form of journaling. Journaling might be a more private or more personal activity, however blogging for some seems pretty personal. It is a way of recording thoughts and feelings. So how about you do you express your innermost thoughts?

I'm sure I will reserve my most personal thoughts and feelings for my journal and yet, maybe, I can reframe blogging into an activity I do not resist so much.

Daddy, Tell Me A Story...

The editor’s buzzword--no phrase--is “show, don’t tell” [a story]. However, some authors tell their stories and do an excellent job of it. And little children often say to their parents, “tell me a story.”

They are not asking the parent to show them a story, although often enough a picture book comes out for cuddle time as the parent reads the story. When I was growing up we would ask our parents to “tell us a story” and that is what they would do. Some made-up, fanciful things and others based on events my dad lived through.

My dad road a bicycle over a log road through a swamp to get from his home town to a small community on the east shore of the popular Adirondack lake, Lake George, every summer from the time he was 12 to age 18. He would tell us stories from those boyhood experiences.

We came to know the stories by the fanciful titles like:

                                   

Searchlights And Swimming (a group of boys skinny dipping in the lake while the girls were left back on shore)

                                   

The Seeds Get in My Teeth (making homemade ice cream and licking the dasher)

                                   

One-Armed Bandit (illegal gambling activities)

                                   

Rum Runner At Eighteen (moving rum from Canada to communities in the US during prohibition)

                                   

Many of these stories had held a cautionary message. My dad was raised a Quaker--he never preached, he led by example.

Showing versus telling. My dad told stories and wrote them down. There are authors who are brilliant at telling along with showing a story. It creates a uniquely different voice from a story that is predominantly “shown” to the reader. Perhaps it is because of early ear training this unique blend appeals to me so much.

                                   

A story that is told can be uniquely wonderful.

                                   

Just sayin'... 

Happy 4th of July

Today was the first time in seven years I attended a parade. It was not just any old parade--the locale markets the parade as they second longest running parade in the US. It is off the beaten track in the little town of Springfield Center, NY (near famed Glimmerglass lake or Otsego Lake). There is a wide variety of participants in this parade and many people who come out to support it.

So why was I there?

Great question! Thanks for asking. I attended because my oldest daughter was marching in the only pipe band in the parade. There were other drum corps and marching bands in the parade, but Hobart's Pipe and Drums was the only bagpipe band in the parade.

There is something special about small town parades. Even if there are people from all over (even forty to fifty miles away) you feel connected to each other. Have you ever stood in a large crowd and felt anonymous--even when there are people there you know? This is nothing like that. People are greeting each other and you. They stop and chat, or lean forward in the chairs, look right at you and ask questions, make small talk. It's amazing.

When combined with July 4th (or Memorial Day) there is red, white and blue bunting--lots and lots of red, white and blue bunting. There are patriotic songs, flag waving and cheering. Children running to the front of the crowds grabbing candy that is tossed from floats. In fact the children run around with no one worrying about their child getting snatched by a stranger. It's so different from a parade in a city.

I haven't missed attending parades in the past seven years while my bagpiper attended school and dropped out of piping. But now that she's back at it, now I've missed the small town parades. It harkens back to an earlier time in our history. It allows a break from city dwelling and the worries associated with city dwelling.

And we could not have asked for a better day. Blue skies, plenty of sunshine, a nice breeze and no humidity. My wish for you is a day as glorious as this day turned out for me.

Do You Have a Passion?

What is your passion? Reading, writing, painting, drawing? Maybe it is singing, dancing, playing an instrument.

Ever since I can remember my life has been enriched by music and books. My father was a music teacher, church choir conductor and clarinetist. My mother played the violin. In fact, it was music that brought them together--when she was 15 and he was 20. They made sure all six of their children learned to play some instrument and some of us became proficient on more than one.

Living on a teacher's salary meant there was not a lot of extra cash, but they always found ways to make sure our lives were enriched by season lawn passes at a summer concert/ballet venue. We attended concerts, operas and ballets from a young age on through high school. What we did with this was up to us. Most of the six of us have continued to use our musical education in some way long into our adulthood.

I still enjoy classical music. I adore the cello (my primary instrument), I can play the guitar and bowed psaltry. I have also picked up some fiddle tunes. However when my youngest daughter started outplaying me on the fiddle by the time she was 12 years old I have pretty much set the fiddle aside.

This weekend we attended the 31st annual Old Songs Festival in Altamont, NY. It is a gathering of like-minded artists and patrons who spend a three day weekend together, attending workshops, informal and formal jam sessions, dances and concerts. My girls have attended all of there lives. Watching each one of them express their individual interests and make the experience "theirs" has been a delight.

Music has certainly been a constant love in my life, but so has reading and writing. Sometimes trying to find time for all of them has been a challenge. So, what is your passion? Tell me a little something about it, please.

Another month has flown past

Obviously I have not gotten into the routine of blogging. Major fail, or minor quirk?
I'm hoping it is a minor quirk.
How was the merry month of May for you? How did it come and go so fast? Our May started off unusually cold and rainy. Some nearby areas have seen major flooding and one area a few miles east had a tornado. Since there have been numerous devastating tornadoes it hardly seems right mentioning the nearby storm.
The thing is, we don't usually see tornadoes in the great northeast. Once and a long while the right weather phenomena occurs to create the right conditions, but it isn't usual.
Another unusual thing that occurred in May was the death of a co-workers child. Horrible, devastating. I am thrilled to report, we have an enlightened boss who closed our site for a bereavement day. Or maybe it was because she knew we would all want to be there for our co-worker when she had to bury her child. In any case, we had the day off.
What do you say to someone who is facing the worst thing possible? Parents are not supposed to bury a child--it is just wrong. What is there to say? I heard phrases like: "He is at peace now."
Really? How does that provide comfort?
Another phrase overheard was: "He has shed his broken body. Now that he is in heaven he can walk and run and play like any normal child."
Really? I wanted to smack the person.
I walked up to my co-worker wondering what do I say? I pulled her into my arms still wondering and hear her say, "You are the one person, I believe, that may have an inkling of the pain I am in."
She has often alluded to the fact that we are/were raising children with disabilities and we belonged to this special, different sisterhood.
When my daughter was so very ill at the end of March, I had a few hours of severe worry that she would not survive. It was nightmare-frightening. Maybe I do have an inkling of the pain she is in, but it is not the same. I sure have been hugging my girls a lot more in the past week.
I ache for my friend's pain and her loss.