Waiting for the Third Shoe to Drop

The year is rolling to an end. I missed a few posts this month. It wasn’t due to an excess of holiday cheer. Unfortunately, I blew off blog posts because—on top of seasonal ennui—I had root canal. Yup root canal—the achy bane of existence! Back on my feet and on my teeth…I hope to start 2020 in a better frame of mind.          This brings me to the anticipation of one more shoe dropping with an avatar for 2019. If years have personalities, this one was a lulu with crazy politics, international confusion and, oddly, ignorance. It’s my impression that
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Go Take a Walk

Stumped about how to get a character from point A to point B? Confused about the order of events? Getting that squishy feeling that the pace is too slow (or too fast)? Starting to wonder why you’re writing this particular tale in the first place.          Go take a walk!          Or go to the kitchen and make a cup of tea or do the dishes or fold the laundry and then GO TAKE A WALK, because nothing shakes ideas loose like not writing. It’s the stepping out of the process that pushes the process along. This happens to me
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Entertainment

We are surrounded by entertainment options! You can choose to watch the ‘The Irishman’ using Netflix on your TV (or on your tablet) OR go to the movie theater and see it on the big screen. You can be entertained all day and night on screens—playing games, watching videos, following tutorials on cooking (or knitting or make-up), checking out artists on Instagram or writers on Twitter, reconnecting with old friends on Facebook… You get the picture. There’s never been more screen-based entertainment. Other, older, forms of entertainment still exist and, in some places, thrive. If you’re like me, you’ll also
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Reading NON-Fiction

I’ve been reading non-fiction lately. I go through phases and, since I’m always reading more than one book at a time, adding a non-fiction book to the mix makes sense. I can recommend the two I finished reading most recently: ‘Blowout’ by Rachel Maddow and ‘Talking to Strangers’ by Malcolm Gladwell.          Rachel Maddow’s book is about the greed and corruption in the international fossil fuel industry and how communities rich in resources become vulnerable and get swallowed up in an almost inevitable tragedy. From fracking-inspired ‘earthquake swarms’ in Oklahoma to the economic devastation of Equatorial Guinea, her book travels
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What’s Inside

The profile said “heavyset” and 5’ 10”. Agatha translated that into 5’ 8” and fat. Men always lied about their height the way women always lied about their weight. But his photo—a tight head shot—showed thick, wavy brown hair, big green eyes and a perfect ready for a close-up smile. Who was she to reject him just because of weight? It was just a glass of wine with a guy. Not a life-long commitment. She had to get back into dating and stop feeling like a dairy product with an expiration date. A glass of wine with a stranger, in
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Staircases

One of my all-time favorite films is ‘Notorious’ with Ingrid Bergman and Cary Grant, plus Claude Rains. There’s a scene at the end of the film when Alicia (Bergman), the American daughter of a convicted Nazi spy, is being rescued by her romantic interest/U.S. spy handler T.R. (Grant) from the clutches of a Nazi ring in post-WWII Brazil. She’s been poisoned and he carries her down the staircase and outside to a waiting car. The staircase feels endless. Each step is a tiny increment in their dangerous journey. Hitchcock managed to make that staircase seem almost infinite—although in earlier scenes
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Going Viral

No, not that kind of viral… the old school variation, this one was a respiratory infection that felt a little like house arrest minus the crime. The hellish, body-wracking cough, endlessly runny nose, baritone voice, fevered sleep—you get the picture. This virus put writing, blogging, dancing, throwing pots and socializing on hold. It was a little like hibernation—if bears stayed home and ate soup while watching British mysteries and costume dramas on Netflix.          The only thing NOT on hold was my imagination. The part of my brain that tells myself stories was on high alert. I revisited an idea
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