positive thinking

The Blogging Dilemma

2006-11-28T23:54:00.000-08:00

Lately, an old friend contacted me to tell me she has just started a blog. I have been meaning to pop over there, but I realized yesterday that I honestly haven't had the time because my mind is crammed with all the things on my to-do list. Morale of the story - I forgot. Until last night at any rate and that was because I couldn't sleep for thinking about my to-do list.

This made me realize how easy it is to start a blog and have no one read what you write. One of the main reasons is that if you don't read other people's blogs you don't have much chance of them taking the time to read yours. My busy schedule doesn't give me much time beyond the bracket I concede myself to read posts by agents who blog and the messages in all the writing lists I'm on. I use this blog mainly to keep writing, even when I'm not writing as much as I should.

Blogging, to many of us, is like being at the beach. You know you're expected to wade into the water, but you're not sure if you want to. You stick your toe in and then cringe as the water temperature clashes with that of your body. Then you look around. Everybody else is swimming and they seem to be enjoying themselves. You might as well join in. How long you stay in the water before you get goosebumps is another issue altogether.

Nephele Tempest has an interesting blog post at http://www.romancingtheblog.com/blog/ titled To Blog Or Not To Blog, where she discusses the utility of blogs for published authors and how a website may or may not be an interesting alternative.

If you're a writer or an aspiring one, go take a look.

On Queries

2006-11-05T01:53:00.000-08:00

I'm working hard on my agent list before I start querying them with my novel. What I'm doing is so much on my mind that even when I sleep, I dream I'm on the Web surfing agent profiles and reading about them.

It feels good to have the buzz again.

Storytime

2006-10-15T23:42:00.000-07:00

There was one particular cartoon I loved watching when I was a child. I think it's a Japanese production and the episodes were all about a particular bee called Maia and the other inhabitants of the woods. They're airing the episodes again on Italian TV and this morning, during breakfast the story of this particular episode, one I had never watched before, enchanted the writer in me in its perfect simplicity.

On one of their nature walks near a stream, a bee named Maia and her friends, another little bee and a grasshopper named Flip, come across a Mama snail trying to convince her three sons that they are now grown up enough to leave on their own. Around her, a group of insects protest that Mama snail is too hard-hearted to insist when the three little snails cannot stop crying and are begging her to let them stay.

Even the ugly old spider, who plays terrible music on a violin to confuse her prey and attract them into her web, says so. Mama snail is indignant at the accusations from the other insects, but wiser, and remains of the opinion that her offsprings must leave.

When Maia asks Flip why this is happening, Flip says it's the natural way of things. Children are born and their mother takes care of them with love, but there comes a time when they must leave the nest and strike out on their own. To hold them back would be a mistake. They must learn to face the world independently, for their own good as their mother will not always be there to protect them.

Maia tells the tiny snails that she, too, is still a young bee, but she faces the woods on her own, with the help of her friends. The three snails, however, are too afraid to leave their mother's side. They do not trust the unknown.While this discussion is taking place, a human throws a lit match into the scrub nearby and the woods catch fire. All the insects are trapped between the fire on one side and the spider's web on the other.

Mama snail starts inching towards the spider's web. If the spider eats her then she'll be satisfied and her children can pass through. But the idea seems too cruel to Maia. Flip is angry at the spider and accuses her of being heartless. But the spider says that if she felt sorry for every insect who appeared before her web she'd starve and be dead by now. Another of nature's undeniable truths.

Maia looks around for a solution and after much debate with her friends, she notices that a natural dam of sticks and leaves is blocking the stream water at one point. They work together to remove it and the water overflows the banks, putting out the fire. The woods are safe once more.

The insects rejoice in Maia's quick thinking. And the three little snails begin to hope that the world cannot be so cold out there if there are friends like Maia who will help them along the way. The fact that Maia is so independent makes them realize that they, too, must leave their mother's side and fend on their own.

Maia gives them hope and courage.

Fascinating!

Epitaph

2006-09-13T09:32:00.000-07:00

My paternal grandmother died yesterday. We've been calling her nanna Cettina for as long as I can remember. She was 92 and the most vigorous person I've ever known. She was conscious to the last and I'm glad that I got to see her only days before she passed away.

There are two lovely childhood memories I forgot to mention in my previous post:

nanna Cettina making home-made ravioli filled with ricotta, just for me;

the way she always said she liked having me at her home when I was a little girl, because I didn't make a fuss and was always quiet and good company.

You were good company for me, too.

I love you nanna.

Favourite childhood memories

2006-09-08T21:02:00.000-07:00

There are so many of these but some stand out more than others. Let's see...

Going to the beach with my grandfather...just me and him. He would watch me from the beach and let me swim to my heart's content. It was hard for me to explain I wanted to go with my friends when I was a teen, but he didn't need any explanation. I love you grandpa.

Playing at just about anything with my younger sister and my cousin at my grandma's house. We would use all her pasta to play house with. When she finally got to cook the pasta, it was always mixed LOL.

Playing 'tent' with my younger sister.

Looking for crabs with another of my cousins on lovely afternoons at the beach with my aunt.

Going out with the whole family and my very own uncle Sam. I truly loved him. We all did, but he passed away too soon.

Reading fairy-tales...oh, how I loved it. And not just the classic ones. All I ever got for my birthdays were books from my aunts and uncles because they knew how much I adored them. One of my fondest memories is of a family of mice living in a shoe with their tiny furniture and clothes :-).

Thinking little people lived inside a radio . I was very young here LOL.

Mum making us fries at home and putting them in a paper bag, as if we'd bought them from the take-away.

The film 'Grease' :-)

Roots

2006-09-06T07:26:00.000-07:00

Roots. They form us, mould us into what we become as teenagers, grownups, adults. No matter how much we run from them, they always catch up. And that's not always a bad thing. In fact it can be good to realize how much of one's family one carries around. The place where I was born, the house I grew up in, the streets, the nooks and crannies, the scenery, the people, the mentality, the culture, the good side and the not so good side...they all add up to mix with the essence of me and make me who I am.

A person proud of her roots.

Pedestals & Co.

2006-08-17T10:40:00.000-07:00

I heard a sentence that stuck with me today: "When someone puts you on a pedestal, the only way to go is down."

How many of us put others on a pedestal? People we care about, who can never live up to our ideal no matter how hard they try because as we all know, nobody's that perfect.

It happens all the time and is probably one of the major reasons for conflict in any relationship. Mothers and daughters, fathers and sons, parents and their children, siblings, husband and wife, best friends - we all have expectations, hoping the other person will live up to the way we want them to be. When they don't it's a mammoth disappointment all around. It takes time to elaborate what happened and get over the hurt, until we realize that we're all just people. People who make mistakes.

We all deserve a second chance if we really want to make things work.

And this is what I want to write about in my next book. Thanks for tagging me Magnolia.

Wednesday funny

2006-07-26T00:19:00.000-07:00

During the wedding ceremony of a rich eighty-year old geezer to a young girl of 22, the minister asked,

"Will you, Sam Baker take this Karen Frost to become her lawfully wedded husband?"
"Yes."
"And will you, Karen Frost take this Sam Baker to become his lawfully wedded widow?"

You bet!

LOL

Writing quote

2006-07-01T08:12:00.000-07:00

"Ask a writer to tell you her story at your peril." Audrey Higgans

Growth is painful

2006-06-27T00:13:00.000-07:00

On an island paradise, a young local was chosen to become his father's successor as Medicine Man, but first, he had a mission to accomplish. He had to row himself on a small makeshift boat to the deeper waters of the bay and capture a live turtle, the holder of sacred powers. No mean feat since the guardian of the bay, a solitary dolphin, chased turtles away from what he cosidered his own, personal territory.

Our hero dove into the blue depths fraught with underwater coral, a result of volcanic eruptions from years past. He had to earn his father's trust and that of the community through a sacred rite.

A large turtle swimming under an outcrop of rocks caught his eye. He lunged after his prey, the tough shell covering the ancient body slick under his eager hands. But the jelous dolphin chased the turtle away. The hero tried again and this time he managed to catch the turtle before the dolphin got in the way. Lungs bursting, he rose to the surface, hauled the turtle on to his boat and rowed back to shore bearing his prize. He had gained his father's trust.

That's all very well, but they ate the turtle! I feel for the poor reptile, whose powers are probably about as mystic as those of any of us.

Growth is painful, especially for turtles.

The meaning of true love

2006-06-06T02:40:00.000-07:00

What is true love?

It's a question writers and philosphers from all over the world, country, pop and rock singers galore and common people such as me have been battling with since the beginning of time. There as many answers and possibilites as there are men and women out there and one exclusive response is perhaps impossible to define.

I love to write about relationships, and I have asked myself this question because I tend to look at real life as a source for my writing. So many people I know have spoken to me about the problems they face in their relationships. It has made me realize there is one common denominator that puts everyone at the same level, or at least those of us who are able to drop the mask. Men and women baffle each other and it's easy to get lost in the fog while searching for the solution for a perfect relationship.

As the song goes, "true love is hard to find", but I would go a step further and say that though one may be lucky enought to find it, (I believe it does happen or I wouldn't be a romance writer), it's hard to keep the fires burning, day in day out, when real life steps into the picture and throws wrenches into well-laid plans.

Recently, a person said these words to me. True love, the one that matures over time in people who learn to accept their significant other, warts and all, means that you stop saying "I love you because I need you" and start saying "I need you because I love you" instead.

A character who goes from one way of thinking to the other...that's what I want to write about.

Re: Tangled

2006-05-17T22:46:00.000-07:00

In my previous post I wrote: I stopped writing fiction because I need to understand reality, before I can write fiction again.

It was one of those sentences that come into my head when I least expect them but they are crystal clear as to how I feel inside after elaborating for some time.

With regard to the comments from Diane and Magnolia (thanks so much BTW, I'll be visiting your blogs in a little while)...it's funny because ever since I posted I've been thinking along the same lines...If I wait until I fully understand everything, I will never write a word of fiction because it takes a lifetime and possibly more, to understand real life. The writing bug keeps chomping at the bit. Maybe I should just barge ahead and muddle through it all, writing as I go.

Diane and Magnolia...thanks for the kick in the butt :-).

Tangled

2006-05-17T07:36:00.000-07:00

I stopped writing fiction because I need to understand reality, before I can write fiction again.

Amethyst

The art of listening

2006-05-12T23:34:00.000-07:00

Are you a chatter-box or a listener? Can you be both?

This is something I hadn't given much thought to until a week ago when we discussed it in a group I'm part of.

I am a regular chatter-box, even by e-mail, but I had always thought of myself as a good listener. There are, of course, reasons why I have such a voracious need to express my thoughts and opinions. There's always a reason and it's usually embedded in our past, a maxim I like to adopt for the characters in my novels as well as to discover more about myself and the people around me. But that's not the topic of my blog post. My attention today is focused on the verb 'to listen'.

What does listening really entail? The dictionary defines it as follows: to pay attention, to hear something with thoughtful attention, to give consideration, to be alert, to catch the unexpected.

Do we really do all of the above when we listen? We may think so, but more often than not, we don't. I've noticed that when someone is talking to me, I want to listen and I am honestly armed with good intentions but the truth is, a form of empathy makes me personalize what I'm hearing, and my thoughts fly to the time when I experienced a similar feeling. In order to make the other person feel better I can't wait to tell them how much like them I felt in the past and how much I understand them.

What do chatter-boxes do in these cases? They interrupt. With the best of intentions, but they do interrupt. Yet, what the other person needs is not to hear about our problems, or for us to find a solution, but for us to listen to theirs.

I'll try to think of that next time a friend or relative needs a good listener.

Quotes

2006-05-08T08:40:00.000-07:00

Here are two quotes of mine...light bulb moments when my mind is prone to philosophise ;-).

"Want to know more about writing conflict in romance novels? Get married!" Amethyst

"I looked inside myself and got lost in the labyrinth." Amethyst

I've been tagged

2006-04-27T15:16:00.000-07:00

I've been tagged by Magnolia at family funnies (http://familyfunnies.blogspot.com/). Take a look at her blog. It's fantastic and has some really insightful posts about writing and life.

Here are six things aobut myself and then I have to tag someone else.

I love travelling to new places

I can count my very special friends on the fingers of one hand and they've seen me through the good and bad

I'm emotionally independent (well....I'm working on it LOL)

I LOVE writing and reading romance and women's fiction

I adore Sicilian home-made chocolate ice-cream (and anything else with chocolate in it ;-))

I'm a fast learner.

Today, I can safely and thankfully say it feels good to be me!

I'm tagging Lynette, Diane and Cathy

What Kind of Writer Should You Be Quiz

2006-04-04T00:06:00.000-07:00

I confess...my writer's ego succumbed to this one...and here's the enthusiastic answer:

***You Should Be a Film Writer***
You don't just create compelling stories, you see them as clearly as a movie in your mind.You have a knack for details and dialogue. You can really make a character come to life.Chances are, you enjoy creating all types of stories. The joy is in the storytelling.And nothing would please you more than millions of people seeing your story on the big screen!

Very flattering indeed. Now if only I could get down to some serious writing .

You can take this quiz at:
What Type of Writer Should You Be?http://www.blogthings.com/whattypeofwritershouldyoubequiz/

The Butterfly House

2006-04-03T02:13:00.000-07:00

In a tiny place in Sicily called Viagrande, at the foot of the Etna volcano, there's a place called The Butterfly House. If you're ever in Europe and visiting southern Italy, don't let the chance to visit this place slip away.

The minute we stepped inside, a blanket of tropical humidity wrapped itself around us, sticking to our skin and clothes, but the high temperature is a necessity for the aviary inhabitants. Besides, the enchantment of seeing butterflies of all sizes and colours from all over the world flying around us among the flowers and trees more than made up for the discomfort.

An enthusiastic guide pointed out an Australian turtledove tending her nest of eggs, tiny birds from New Guinea zipping from one side of the aviary to the other, some newly-laid butterfly eggs, frogs in a little pond and even a live coupling between two butterflies - a glimpse of the magical beauty of nature.

The best moment of all occurred when a butterfly danced around me for a few precious moments. I kept still and thought, wait, don't go away. Without warning, it stopped to rest on my leg. I stood paralaysed calling out to my friends to take a picture, but before they could the butterfly flew away in a flurry of bright blue, black and brown.

I like to think I was singled out by the butterfly fairy...a sprinkling of gold dust to help me through the rest of life's journey.

Changing of the seasons

2006-03-31T22:45:00.000-08:00

This morning I woke up to a swallow's cry...in Sicily that means the start of Spring and a definite goodbye to cold days and bouts of the flu. From now on each day of sunshine brings summer closer and closer. Lazy days when all you want to do is go out for a nice long walk in the countryside or near the sea. A new burst of energy that makes me want to write and write and write ;-).

Reach out for your dream

2006-03-29T02:56:00.000-08:00

Reach Out For Your Dream

I had a funny dream last night. I say funny because my dreams are usually a reflection of what's been going on in my subconscious.

I dreamt my maternal grandfather, who was also my godfather (I called him 'nannu Leli', short for Emanuel) was lying on a bed in one of those white on white hospital rooms and my mother and I had gone to visit him. He seemed weak, but the second he saw me he reached for something inside a black bag standing next to the bed on the floor and placed it in my hands.

It was one of those glass spheres filled with a transparent liquid and some obscure object stuck to the plastic base. My paternal grandmother had one when I was little, but it was one of those objects children could see, but not touch and although my fingers itched to do just that, I never dared. Maybe I should have. Those spheres always seemed to contain some kind of magic when you shook them a little and the snow started falling.

When I moved the the sphere my grandfather gave me in my dream, a shower of glittering particles filled the liquid and tears filled my eyes because I knew, without words, what he was trying to tell me: "Reach for your dreams, no matter what."

Only yesterday, I told my dearest friend Belle that I need to start working on my second book no matter how busy or preoccupied I am with real life. My writing dreams have taken a back seat lately through no fault of mine, but now it's time to shake off the dust and start polishing them to a shine.

Thank you grandpa

Amethyst

Let It Snow

2006-02-19T02:16:00.000-08:00

There are times when no matter how hard we struggle against something we don't want in our lives, that something persists and needs to run its course. What I've found to be extremely productive is to accept...not approve or resign myself to what's happening, but accept what happens and all the feelings that go with it, be they mine or somebody else's, while nurturing a never-ending desire to change for the better, be the change internal or external.

The more I accept, the easier it seems to climb that Mountain. Recently I went to a skiing resort not far from my current home. Having lived on a tiny island all my life where mountians and snow were alien entitities I had only ever read about it books, seeing and touching snow for the first time was an awesome experience. The maginificence of the Mountain left me breathless.

The sight of all that whiteness covering the immense giant to its peak clogged the air in my throat and helped me approach the might of nature with the respect it deserves. I couldn't help thinking that if the Mountain saw fit, and being an active volcano, it could have started rumbling and scattered us far and wide with terror in our hearts. But the Etna was lenient, might I say benevolent towards us.

The magic began with the first fall of snow, the first I had ever witnessed in my entire life. Each snowflake had a different design. Wonder filled my heart at their exquisite, tridimensional beauty, coupled with reverence for the Artist. When I touched them, they disintegrated. Like all things of beauty, they only lasted so long.

My initial fearfulness melted into awe. By the time I had scaled the slopes a dozen times and careened down on my red, plastic sledge screaming like crazy and laughing my head off at my friend's antics, admiration gave way to sincere affection.

There will be other trips to the Mountain, but this one will remain in my memory forever.

I accepted the mountain and it showed me its good side. There are always two sides to a coin. Sooner or later, life reveals both and I'm free to choose which one to follow.

I dedicate this post to Jade.

Character Development and Scene Suggestions

2006-01-08T09:02:00.000-08:00

There I was, thinking about the main quality that identifies the main protagonist of my next novel and its exact opposite (following the suggestions in Donald Maass's book Writing The Breakout Novel), when I got the idea of looking up both words in my thesaurus. I looked up tenacious and weak.

A plethora of words, 28 just for tenacious, sprang from the pages of the book in my lap (I know we're in the internet era, but I still love to flip through a book I can touch with my own two hands, not to mention that the book is a cerished gift). It made me wonder if I could take things a step further and use these words to discover even more about my character and perhaps give my new novel a kicking start.

With this thought in mind, I created a table with three coloumns, titled Quality, Definition and Scene Suggestion. Even in two words that appear similar in the English language, there are often subtle differences to be found. While looking up the words in both the Oxford and Webster dictionary, some of the sentences shook my muse awake and began to suggest new scene ideas. This after a long drought in composition, the annoyance of which, perhaps, only a fellow writer can really grasp.

For example,

for tenacious I found:
Keeping a firm hold of property, principles, life, etc; not readily relinquishing, persistent; suggests strength in seizing, retaining, clinging to, or holding together,

but for its synonym pertinacious, I found:
stubbornly unyielding

Ah...so being tenacious has it's down side...being stubborn...this got me thinking...how far can the heorine take her stubbornness before it gets her into trouble...perhaps in relation to something she really cares about? That's when I had a lightbulb moment. I already knew what that was! The process got the ball rolling. A scene began to take form in my mind's eye. I can see as far as the headlights show me in the surrounding darkness.

Anything to beat writer's block.

:-)

Hidden Meanings

2006-01-08T08:13:00.000-08:00

I saw a rainbow today.

My first reaction was surprise...enraptured surprise at the sight of such shimmering beauty. A beauty that stirs the heart. My thoughts flew to childhood readings about the pot of fabled gold at the end of the rainbow...Our car raced towards one end, but the closer we got, the dimmer the rainbow became until it disappeared altogether. Perhaps that's the way it's meant to be. For us to chase rainbows, until we find what we're looking for. The beauty of the journey, lies in the chase.

Who knows what it means? Is it a good omen? A promise of good things to come? There's one thing I'm sure of: I feel privileged to have been one of the few who witnessed nature's show for today. One of a chosen few who weren't too busy doing something else to notice.

A symbol of hope for dreamy ol' me.

Thoughts on love from a romance writer.

2005-12-09T10:00:00.000-08:00

"I can't live without you."

How many times have we read this line in romances? How many other times have we heard this line in love songs or spoken by some love-struck, drop-dead-gorgeous male hero in a romantic movie?

Once upon a time, they were the only words I wanted to hear. When I had starts in my eyes and being in love with love was the most wonderful, heady feeling in the world. Almost two decades down the road, a part of me still yearns to hear the words, but the other part starts to wonder...Is this conception of love really that romantic? And even if it is, in a globally recongnized sense, is this what real love is or ought to be about? Depending on another person for your happiness? Or is it merely an immature way of plonking all one's insecurities on the other's head, making him the sole maker of breaker of your happiness, piling a responsiblity on his shoulders he is sure to topple under and which can only lead to a general unhappiness on both sides.

A broken heart never killed anyone unless he/she wanted it to. Love is not "I can't live without you." Love is "I can live without you, but I want you to be a part of my life."

Welcome to the 21st century fairy-tale, where in a healthier relationship, each person is whole in their own right and more capable of giving a love that is less tainted by misconceptions and the youthful desire to find our reflection in the other person's eyes, instead of appreciating the difference. Not a cynical outlook, only a more mature one.

The idea of this ever taking place in any relationship is actually idealistic.

But there is such a thing as hope....and that's why I write romance.

Haikus in public

2005-12-06T01:33:00.000-08:00

I wanted to share the feeling of hearing someone else recite a poem you wrote. It happened to me last Sunday.

There was a special reading of love poems held at the cultural centre in our province, by a well-known local poet who is on the up and coming. He called me to say he'd chosen one of my haikus on love to share with a roomful of people, with soft lights and a piano playing in the background. I sat there with my hubby and listened to the words. Weird, but nice...definitely nice.

Sifting Through The Layers

2005-12-01T10:46:00.000-08:00

With each passing day I'm learning that in life there is no such thing as black and white. Rigidity is one of the main stumbling blocks for a person, be it emotional or otherwise. There are so many mistaken views of life we find ourselves fighting against.

Intellect helps us discern which patterns of behaviour are good for us and which ones aren't. Some of them are detrimental, hinder us in relationships with ourselves and with others, be they strangers, friends, relatives or significant others. If we rooted them out, we'd be freer people. Easy thing to say, but much harder to put into practice.

But discernment is the first step. It helps us take stock of what is going on. Patience and time are two other factors that need to be added to the mixture. Change for the better takes place little by little, day after day. The wise old woman inside that small, hidden room in our minds, busy weaving the cloth of our lives won't be hurried. But we keep insisting for her to change the design, making her work harder.

Maybe we should just give in to her voice when she whispers, "This is the best way."

It would make life so much simpler.

The Greateast Thing about Writing

2005-10-23T07:31:00.000-07:00

Just when you think you can't do it, an idea takes you by surprise. Each time I think of embarking on a writing project of some sort the first thing my inner critic says is, "Nah, you can't write that. You don't know how. You don't even have a plan."

But there's a part of me that just won't give up. My brain continues to nag at the problem until a couple of days pass and to my surprise, an idea hits me right between the eyes, usually the minute I wake up in the morning. I believe in the saying that if you mull over a problem before you go to sleep, the solution will come to you in the morning, at least as far as writing is concerned. There's also the other maxim I gleaned from Ralph Keye's book, "The Courage to Write," which encourages not to worry about a story after sundown. I try to find a middle road. Think about it without worrying. Sure...piece of cake.

This happened to me two days ago with a short story. I had heard of a fiction contest I could take part in, but hesitated to do so because I had no idea what to write. About a week later, in that fuzzy morning phase when you're only half awake, a germ of an idea began to form in my mind. I had a protagonist with an axe to grind and a revenge theme. Still not enough and lots of plot holes, but the idea had possibilities. Listening with half an ear to a TV programme while I folded some kitchen towels did the trick. A line uttered by one of the programme hosts jumped out at me and out of the blue, I had a role for my protagonist as well as a solution to my plot.

I had errands to run and couldn't sit down to write it immediately, but there was one essential thing I had to do before I left. I switched on my laptop and jotted down what I call props. Props in a literal sense because they hold up my story.

a) the story theme

b) the protagonist's goal, motivation and conflict

c) the antagonist's goal, motivation and conflict (as opposed to the protagonist's)

d) setting

e) a proverb that summed up the ending.

I thought about it during the day, adding details and hugging the new idea to myself with egoistical glee. Over the next few days I wrote, rewrote, edited and sent the story out.

The creative process connected with writing, that whimsical, unexplainable process that brings new characters and situations into my life, seemingly out of nowhere, the part that makes me fly, for a fleeting moment, on the wings of a butterfly to savor the nectar of the writing buzz, is the part I love most about my life as a writer.

The Porcupine Dilemma

2005-10-05T00:07:00.000-07:00

The first time I heard about Shaupenhauer's porcupine dilemma it fascinated me. It's an apt depiction of human relationships and their outcome if one isn't careful. How do we get close to another person without getting hurt? This is the way the story was told to me.

Two porcupines were standing at a distance from each other, both shivering with cold. They thought that if they got closer, they would benefit from each other's warmth. So they bridged the distance and huddled together. At first the warmth was heavenly and they were so ecstatic they moved closer. That's when they started to feel the prodding from each other's bodies. But they thought a few punctures were worth the sacrifice if they could have the much desired body heat.

Ignoring the consequences, they drew even closer and this time, the pain proved so great they sprang apart. Distance awned between them. Once again, they were out in the cold, but like most of us, they needed to learn the lesson the hard way, to suffer the consequences of wrong decisions on their own skin before they both came to a realization. They would get close enough, but not too close. That way, they could benefit from each other's warmth without hurting each other.

Another image that symbolizes my ideal of human relationships is the temple front held up by two coloumns. They both make a joint effort to hold up the temple, but stand apart, without losing their individuality. There is space between them and room to grow.

Yet another image that fires my imagination is that of the strings on a violin. They stand seperately and yet, placed at the right distance from each other, they create beautiful music together. I read this verse somewhere:

"May love be a moving sea between the shores of your souls."

An edifying goal.

An Article Published

2005-10-01T22:56:00.000-07:00

An article of mine on the craft of writing called 'Beyond The First Draft' has been published in the October issue of T-Zero Xpandazine. I've included the link in case someone wants to take a peek. Hope it helps you in some way:

http://thewritersezine.com/t-zero/archives/2005-texts/2005-10-craft1.shtml

The Worst Enemy

2005-09-19T23:07:00.000-07:00

We can be our own worst enemy.

I've read that this happens to people who can't say the word NO. They give and give and give and then, when they're the ones who need something and the other people they have helped in the past don't deliver, they are left empty-handed with these words reverberating in their heads: "But I've given you so much? Is this all I deserve in return?"

It's very easy to give in to a pity party at this point. It's also not constructive in the least. The truth is, that it is not other people who have to learn to be more giving. On the contrary, they are giving what they can. We're the ones who have to learn to be more selfish.

In a world where altruism is considered to be a gift towards mankind, this may smack of bad taste but bear with me. I am not talking about a selfishness that hurts others, but about the one that helps us as individuals. Those of us who suffer this way, need to pay more attention to ourselves. To love ourselves more so that when people cannot go the extra mile for us, not because they don't want to or because we aren't at the top of their priority list, but simply because life gets in the way and meddles with their plans, we don't fall into the same old, same old that makes us feel like we're not worth the attention.

We have to stop giving others importance to make ourselves feel good. It's important to tend to the needs of others, but before we do that we have to look inside ourselves and pay attention to our own needs. Only when we have a good relationship with ourselves and our self-image, can we give to others what they really need from us - good, old, unselfish love.

What Matters

2005-09-16T23:07:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, when all else seems shattered, a special friendship can be the one thing that keeps you afloat. Most mornings, I stand in for my husband at our souvenir shop. I was sitting in my writing corner, typing at my laptop the way I usually do when customers are scarce, when a ninety-year old man came in. A vigorous man despite his walking stick and an old friend of my dear, late father-in-law, he always has an interesting anecdote to tell about the time he spent in Greece during World War II. But this time he came to show me a letter he had received from an old Sicilian friend of his who lives in Milan. I was surprised and honoured when he held the letter out to me and said, “I want you to read this, to see what real friendship is all about.”

I read it out loud. The letter was brief, but full of affection, the words clear and sharp. What impressed me the most was a poem the old man’s friend had written about the beauty of spring. It was so full of wonder at nature’s grandeur and at life and the last few lines were aimed at the love of his life. In a few fanciful words, he said that perhaps they had been born for that moment, to savor the beauty of nature and its Creator.

When the old man bid me goodbye, I was left with a sense of admiration and peace. These people are ten years away from living for a century and they can still find something to marvel at, like the beauty of a blossoming meadow and a friendship that has weathered the passage of time.

I look at my life and I see that I have such a friendship. A friendship that, if nurtured, will surely keep me company, like a soft, warm, comforting blanket for the rest of my life.

There is still hope for me.

The Sweetest Thing

2005-08-31T05:39:00.000-07:00

I’ve just come back from a long visit with my family. Each time I visit there is usually one moment that sticks in my mind like a precious gem, helping me get on with my life when it’s time to come back to the reality of living far away.

My favourite memory this time concerns my five-almost-six-year old nephew. On my last day we went to the capital to do some shopping, browse around the shops and just enjoy the nice weather. At one point my sister and my mother entered a gift shop and I decided to stay outside with my nephew who grabbed hold of my waist and curled his legs around one of mine. I’m sure we struck a funny picture with him hanging on to me like a mischievous monkey. I even saw a stranger look at us and smile.

When I asked my nephew why he was hanging on so fast he said, “Because I love you like the whole world.”

The sweetest thing.

Legacy

2005-07-17T10:49:00.000-07:00

I just finished reading a post on romance author Diana Duncan's blog spot at http://dianaduncan.blogspot.com/2005/03/why-i-write-romance.html and found it so inspiring it got me thinking about where I inherited my love for the written word.

Two words come to mind...my parents. I remember my mother telling me she would read by the light of an oil lamp when she was little because there was no electricity at the time. She gave up the chance to become a teacher to marry my father and raise me and my sisters. But she passed on her love for the written word to us. Recently she revealed that my grandmother would often take her to the theatre to see performances of Madame Butterfly, Tosca and the like. Having no TV, it was the only form of entertainment at the time. When she went back home, she would sit down and write her own stories. Aha, I thought, so this is where I got it from. My mother a writer. Somehow, it makes me feel that much closer to her.

English has always been my father's passion and he passed that passion on to me. Ever since I can remember, our home has always been decorated with books. I say decorated not littered because as my father always says, books are meant to be kept lying around the house, for kids to pick up and read, not hidden away on shelves to keep the house tidy.

When I try and rationalize my love for the written word, I remember a time, as a little girl, when dad would teach me a new word and explain its meaning. Just one word. After a couple of days, out of the blue, he'd ask me if I remembered the meaning. I always did and the look of pride in his eyes was reward enough for me. It's always been that way. Words and a love for the English language forged an unbreakable bond between us. We still exchange our wonder over a new word learnt from time to time. I love listening to stories of his progress at school amidst a million difficulties. Unfortunately, he had to forgoe his studies to work and earn his keep, but he never lost his love for reading and that's one of the most precious treasures he passed on to me.

My love for reading and writing gives me a world to escape to, sometimes to get through life's tougher moments, but more often for the simple pleasure of discovering new worlds, past, present and future, with characters that come to life and become my friends. Mum always says that when I was a tiny little girl, she would look for me when the house was too quiet and find me curled up in a corner with a book. I haven't changed. I consider my love for reading and writing a gift, a privilege. Even my aunts and uncles knew a book on my birthday was the perfect gift. I still have many of those books and wouldn't part with them for the world.

Right now I'm reading Never Look Back by Lesley Pearse and she makes me want to strike out for my dream of writing a historical novel even if I've only written contemporary so far. Her detailed descriptions draw me into her world until it becomes mine and now I am entwined in her characters' lives and want, no, need to see how the story ends. This is the kind of book I adore reading, the kind I want to write.

Seraphic Presence

2005-07-10T22:57:00.000-07:00

Happiness is a state of mind, a fleeting glimpse of a moment where nothing else can touch us. When we turn our gaze inward to that secret place inside, we find a feeling of contentment, wellbeing, relaxation, peace. We can breathe in and out and the simple action we usually carry out unconsciously assumes liberating properties.

The beauty of these moments is that they occur when we least expect them. Today I spent the day at the beach. A lazy Sunday morning in my husband's company, with nothing to encumber the day ahead except the prospect of a comfortably dry towel, azure skies and seas and a good, thick book to read beneath the warmth of the Sicilian sun.

At the water's edge, I dipped a tentative foot. The cold sea chilled my skin, so I stood there, wet sand hugging the soles of my feet, trying to build up the courage to wade further.

That's when I saw her.

An echanting toddler in a tiny swimsuit, with cornflower blue eyes that sparkled with some inner magic. Blonde curls framed her face and fell to just beneath her chin. The little girl stood on the foreshore a few yards away, squealing and laughing with delight each time the water crept along to the sand to wrap its damp fingers around her ankles. Each time she laughed, she looked straight at me, as if I was the only one who could understand what she was feeling.

My soul absorbed her innocence, her enthusiasm for the unknown, her thirst for discovery. In her eyes, I saw the future and I knew - everything was going to turn out fine.

A few seconds later, her father whisked her away, out of the sun. I scanned the horizon and held on to my moment of happiness. A cerished instant to be hoarded away in my box of memories, to be brought out, redusted and exclaimed over on a rainy day.

Another drop of water in the well of serenity I am learning to resort to when the going gets tough.

Writing in Flashes (1) - Peace Be With You

2005-06-26T10:41:00.000-07:00

There are so many little things that happen around me that make me smile or even laugh out loud. Sometimes they happen so quickly and the day is so packed with things to do I forget to write them down. This is the first of what I hope will become a regular list:

Peace Be With You

Harry went to church every Sunday. He was sitting in the last row, contemplating life in general when the man seated right behind him sneezed not once, but seven times! Naturally, Harry couldn't resist turning his head to see if the man used a handkerchief. He didn't. You may be wondering why Harry was so worried...well...Harry lived in Italy, and during mass, when the celebration reached the 'peace be with you' part, people didn't just say the words, they shook hands: there was a method to Harry's madness. When the time came, Harry was the only one seated in the row before his fellow church goer and short of being rude, Harry had to turn round and shake hands.

Luckily for Harry, the row in front of his was filled with people eager to do the same.

Overcoming Fear

2005-06-20T23:31:00.000-07:00

In his book The Courage To Write, Ralph Keyes deals with the many kinds of fears writers have to face, whether they're at the beginning of their journey or already published. He also discusses the problem of our internal editor, which often has the voice of a parent, relative or teacher etc....someone who influenced us negatively as children. If you haven't read this book, I recommend it. I return to it each time I feel like the fear is suffocating me.

Many published authors I've read about say these kinds of fears never leave them, but they use the fear and anxiety to help them write well. I know this sounds like a paradox, but it's true. I've found I have to accept to live with this fear all my life if I want to write. Once I begin to accept it, it seems less menacing somehow. I have to start writing my next novel and can hear myself say, "Hello, fear, my old friend," when I sit at my laptop to work on my new story.

Keyes says writers who had people putting them down as children actually make some of the best writers around...because they're pushed to prove they can do it to make those people eat their heart out. (Though people who had supportive families as children make wonderful writers, too).

I go through so many kinds of fears during the writing process. Right now it's my 'Will I ever find an agent?' phase. But I hang in there and keep writing. Even if I have doubts. When I go back with a fresh eye and with a gag in my internal editor's mouth I realize there might be some gold in there if I polish hard enough.

When Email Is An Inspiration...To Write

2005-06-09T23:27:00.000-07:00

When I look at the blank page of a Word document, I get writing jitters. Not so when I look at a blank email. Wierd, but true. If I'm stuck during a writing project, instead of writing in a Word file, I pretend I'm writing an email to one of my critique partners, (I have a couple I trust), telling them what's going to happen next.

Perhaps it's because I know there's someone on the other side who is going to care enough to read what I write. I know we write primarily for ourselves, but I wouldn't be honest with myself if I didn't admit I want people to read my work. Writing for my critique partners as well as for my own satisfaction and pleasure, helps me get past the doubts and fears that no one is ever going to want to read my story and get on with the job at hand.

I've also discovered a new use for emails in the rewriting process. For some reason, even after I've gone over a rewritten chapter a dozen times, when I paste it in an email and enlarge the character to Times New Roman 14, double spaced lines, editing and proofreading errors I hadn't noticed before stand out.

I fix these errors, send the chapter to my critique partners and wait for feedback. I sift through their comments and decide on what to fix, (they're usually right about a lot of things), print out the chapter and read it out loud. This is the last time I'll look at it, for the moment.

When I finish rewriting the whole novel, by the end of June if I stick to my schedule, I know I'll have to step away from it for a couple of weeks and then read it through at one go one last time.

The funny thing is, I don't feel any more confident about writing my next story than I was about writing the one I'm working on at present. For a writer, I imagine that's healthy. It means I approach my craft with the respect it deserves. One thing that spurs me on more than before is that I have proved to myself I can write a book from start to finish and also complete a thorough rewrite. That ought to count for something.

The steps of the Hero's journey and the three-act structure helped me build a plot before. I'm positive they'll help me again. I'm a compulsive planner and though I don't write a complete outline all at once, I like to write an outline of each step before I write it. This way, there's still the mystery of what's going to happen next and a safety net should I get stuck on what I need to write at present.

On Success

2005-05-30T22:45:00.000-07:00

I came across this quote by Tom Clancy and had to post it here for all those of us who feel bogged down during our journey towards the end of our novels:

"Success is a finished book, a stack of pages each of which is filled with words. If you reach that point, you have won a victory over yourself no less impressive than sailing single-handed around the world."

I don't know about you, but I needed to hear that!!

Back to the nitty gritty.

Casting Characters - The Creative Process

2005-05-22T22:57:00.000-07:00

I imagine each writer has his own way of coming up with a character to write about. I'm at the point where a new novel is simmerring in my brain, dying to come out. This made me think about the creative process and how it happens, at least to me.

The first mental picture I get is not about the story idea, but about one of the leading roles. In romances there has to be a male and a female protagonist. One of the two crops up first in my mind in the form of a faceless person with a specific job and an internal conflict connected to that job. I choose professions that fascinate me, or rather, my characters choose them. Then I start thinking about setting...contemporary Rome...a Sicilian male protagonist who rejects his roots and an American heroine who has a job and a life she's not sure she wants any more...lots of possibilities.

But wait, my characters still don't have a face and without a face I can't write. I need to be able to look my characters in the eye and talk to them. I need to throw a casting session. I shop around for the faces, usually more or less famous ones that intrigue me and I start putting the hero and heroine together. I look for pictures of that person with different expressions, smiling, moody, laughing, serious, tender, angry...that kind of thing. When I label the picture with the name I assign to my character, in my head that character is no longer who he is in reality..or rather, reality becomes the one inside my head.

The character, face and all, belongs to me.

We shake hands, start discussing the new endeavour. Right now I can see my two protagonists waiting for me in the wings. They have a look of rebuke in their eyes that says, "When are you going to get cracking? Resolve our conflicts. Write our story."

Patience my lovelies. I have to finish a rewrite first and yes, I'm groaning. Meanwhile I'm reading about character creation before I go to sleep at night.

Finding The Courage To Write

2005-05-20T23:20:00.000-07:00

Writing a novel is a pipe dream for many. Most get discouraged when they're not even halfway through. Some of us fear writing with a vengeance, yet still possess the tenacity to finish what we start, despite the obstacles and the slim chances of success. Why do we put ourselves through the wringer even though we feel tortured to a game of Russian roulette each time we face the blank page? Why, despite our terror of producing drivel, do we still continue to put words on paper and send out our manuscripts to would-be agents and publishers?

If you're a novel writer, budding or otherwise who is suffering from the above-mentioned symptoms and need a boost to your morale and writing endeavours check out my article, I Dare You, published on T-Zero: The Writer's E-Zine at:

http://thewritersezine.com/t-zero/archives/2004-texts/2004-11-craft1.shtml

Simply knowing that other people are enduring the same writing pains makes it a much less lonelier journey.

The Dream In My Pocket

2005-05-11T22:55:00.000-07:00

An advert on Italian TV shows people going into a bank with a dream. One young man's dream was a fancy motorcycle...typical...Everyone came out of the building with smiling faces because the bank helped make their dream come true.

Each time I get those astrological spam messages I didn't ask for, promising me luck and good fortune I shake my head. They promise I'm going to become very rich and will be very lucky in love etc...etc...You know the drill. But they can't promise what I really want.

My dream is to get published in novel-length romance fiction and only hard work and persistence will get me there. A tiny dose of luck might help, too. My husband says I'll make it one day because I'm tenacious. I hope he's right. I'm putting my one hundred percent into it, but doubts plague me. Fear is my constant companion. Especially when I see the notes about rejection on the writing lists I'm on. The one I like best is that rejection is like losing your virginity. It's tough the first time, but it gets better. It's important to be able to laugh at ourselves and move on. I'm still working on that part.

Last Sunday I went for a walk near the beach. The Mediterranean was a vast, calm expanse of blue, the sun shining diamonds on the surface. What is it about the sea that makes me feel I can accomplish anything? Somehow, when I look at it, I'm one step closer to the Creator and there's nothing I cannot dream. The horizon awaits. There's bound to be land out there at some point.

I'm gonna keep rowing.

The Beauty of Goal-Setting

2005-05-09T23:13:00.000-07:00

Yesterday afternoon, I worked on my novel rewrite at the table on the balcony. The weather has turned warmer and it's pleasant to sit in a shaded place surrounded by plants and flowers. What I hadn't bargained for was company. And from a magpie of all things. A smart black one with splashes of white at its throat.

Perched on the roof of the building opposite my house she seemed to be scouring the area. Why did I assume it was a she? Patience and I'll explain.

For a moment all thoughts of my rewrite fled. Silent as a mouse I sat transfixed and watched the magpie fly across the road onto my neighbour's roof with a large twig in its beak. More seconds ticked by. After a while it soared, wings spread wide, straight to the top of a considerably large tree in my front garden. Don't ask me what tree it is because I don't know. But the branches fan out and the leaves fill in the spaces in between. More important, the mapie likes it and from my second-floor balcony, I have a front seat view.

When the magpie flew off, my curiosity got the better of me and I took a closer look. A myriad of twigs, all more or less the same size, covered the spread branches in a haphazard manner. This made me think about the magpie's labour of love. Step by step, she is building a nest for her little ones in a safe place and no one is going to stop her. Not if I can help it, that's for sure. I only hope the traffic doesn't scare her off. I've always loved birds and now I can birdwatch from my own home. So much more interesting than all the demential reality shows airing on Italian TV nowadays.

I don't mind rewriting, have learned a lot since I started, but proofreading and editing can be a drag. Like a good girl, I went back to my laptop and finished proofreading and editing chapter 9. I set a daily goal and saw it through. There are six more to achieve before the week is out.

This morning I peeked out on the balcony and saw the magpie resting in the arms of the tree. A second later she took off, in search of more twigs. If she can do it, so can I. One twig at a time.

When Non-Writers Don't Get It

2005-05-09T01:01:00.000-07:00

I have another poem published. A positive thing.

It's hard for me to make non-writer friends understand the thrill of seeing my name published on a website alongside a poem I wrote. I write free verse and haiku when the muse hits me and I'm also working on the rewrite of my first romance novel. Another story is waiting in the wings. I'm looking forward to starting and dreading it at the same time. For crazy li'l old me, that's normal.

My friends love me, I know that. They're there for me when I need a shoulder and rejoice when something good happens to me, but when it comes to writing, they just don't get it. I'm convinced it's because they're not writers. It hurt at first when all they said was, "Really? That's great. Who knows? Some day you might start earning a substantial amount of money from it."

I don't mind earning money in return for my writing and I'm always in search of paying markets. I guess their offhand comments wounded my idealistic soul. I spend time listening to their ramblings about children and diapers and tiffs with in-laws even if I'm married but have no kids. It would be nice to be able to discuss my novel rewrite struggles with them once in a while without seeing their eyes glaze over. I can actually see their brains tune out.

Maybe someday they'll really listen... and pigs will fly.

Dads

2005-05-07T22:38:00.000-07:00

My dad used to sing in nightclubs in his spare time when he was young and according to my mum, he was good. As a result, he's always had a passion for oldies. Songs by Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, Perry Como, The Platters, Engelbert Humperdinck, Tom Jones, Petula Clarke, Connie Frances...the list is endless. It was inevitable that he would pass his passion on to me. I love to listen to this genre when I'm in a mellow mood. When Frank Sinatra died, I felt like I had lost a dear uncle. Listening to his songs had made him one of the family.

Lately, dad has been badgering me to listen to a song by Nat King Cole called Smile. Now I know why he insisted so much. It's a beautiful song with touching lyrics I really needed to hear. I sent him a message and told him each time I listen to it I will always think of him. I can percieve his presence in the room as the music floats towards me and evelopes me in its soothing wisdom. Thanks to sing365.com. for the lyrics.

Smile

Smile though your heart is aching,
smile even though it's breaking.
When there are clouds in the sky,
you'll get by
if you smile through your fear and sorrow.
Smile and maybe tomorrow
you'll see the sun come shining through,
for you

Light up your face with gladness,
hide every trace of sadness,
although a tear may be ever so near.
That's the time you must keep on trying.
Smile, what's the use of crying?
You'll find that life is still worthwhile
if you just smile

That's the time you must keep on trying.
Smile, what's the use of crying?
You'll find that life is still worthwhile
if you just smile

Originally sung by Nat King Cole
Words by John Turner and Geoffrey Parsons
Music by Charlie Chaplin

2005-05-07T06:17:00.000-07:00

In the Mirror

Why is it so hard for us to accept ourselves the way we are? Probably because we worry too much about how other people see us. Wouldn’t it be better to concentrate on being true to ourselves, despite what others think?

I am ruled by my emotions. No matter how hard I try to be rational and down to earth, my emotions dictate how I react. Only the other day, someone I care about said they’d like me to take life more in my stride, to come down from the clouds and plant my feet firmly on the ground. I’ve thought about it and decided I can’t be what other people want me to be. I have to be myself. And if calmer means less passionate about life in general, thanks--I’ll pass.

I am willing to change the parts of me that can be changed, the negative parts that impede my growth and progress. But I will always be an idealist, a dreamer. If I lost my idealistic outlook, I’d probably stop writing, or write like a cynic. That’s not to say I’m not open to new ideas and that I don’t see the crude reality around me. I see it and I choose to believe there has to be some way to make it better, to make others understand my point of view.

Once we accept ourselves the way we are, it will be easier to make the changes. It sounds like a paradox, but I believe this with everything inside me. It’s like when we have a bad day and negative vibes overwhelm us. The more we push them away, the harder it is to get rid of them. But if we tell ourselves to have patience, to accept these feelings and that for today this is how we must feel, they start to go away until they disappear altogether.

The less we let ourselves be blocked by our desire for perfection, the more we let ourselves make mistakes, the more we’ll achieve. I love to challenge myself on an intellectual level, to discover new horizons, to learn more and more about writing – a passion I’ve discovered I cannot do without.

I planted some geraniums this morning. I chose five different colours and have them on my balcony. I’m trying to create a pleasant writing place for the summer where I can sit and write on my laptop, away from my internet addiction. Otherwise, I’ll never get anything done. There’s something abut flowers blossoming in a plant after you’ve watered and nurtured it. To me they signify hope.

I’ve planted the seed of positivity in my conscious mind. God willing, I’ll watch it grow.

Venturing into Unknown Territory

2005-05-06T23:10:00.000-07:00

Okay, I admit it. The blogging bug got me, too. I've been hearing all about it on the mailing lists I'm on and I finally decided I wanted to be part of this phenomenon. I have difficulty journaling unless I'm in one of life's deep throughs. The result? Each time I go back to read my journal I tend to lose whatever good humor I've managed to work up. Talk about depressing (grin). So...this morning, I woke up with the idea of creating a blog about the positive things that happen to me. There's lots of them out there I'm sure. I just have to slip on my rose-tinted glasses. I'd best go see where I left them last.

Feels good to be here.