A Creative Writer In Progress

As A Beginning Writer, What Do You Want?

2011-09-26T00:05:00.001-05:00

Buck's Pocket, Alabama property of Judy Harper

It's almost time for the November National Novel Writing Month. I can't believe it's been a year! Last year was my first time to enter. I wrote almost 22,000 words to my novel. I'm trying to decide if I want to enter it again. I have to admit, it motivated me to get started on my novel, even if I didn't succeed in writing 50,000 words. If you want to check out National Writers Month go to this link NaNo. It's writing by the seat of your pants.

What I gained from this experience is making time to write, finally deciding the name of my book, which subject I wanted to write about. So if you have been saying you want to be a writer but have never created an outline, thought about beginning, middle and end, go for it. No one will critique or criticize. You will have buddies that you can share with. Helps provided by NaNo and regional support groups.

If you want to read about my beginning experience from last year to to the following link NaNo Has Started and Me Too!

Insecure Writer's Support Group

2011-09-09T13:17:00.000-05:00

I borrowed this from Alex J. Cavanaugh's web site

Alex J. Cavanaugh is hosting the "Insecure Writer's Support Group", a place to link your post, on the first Wednesday of each month, on what your fears are and then receive encouragement and support from other writers. Alex posted on his biggest fear, that of losing friends. Which I think is a fear for many of us.

One of my fears is high winds and listening for a tree to fall, I wrote about this today, I Asked For Rain, But Not the Wind! . Because my power was out, I wasn't able to access the Internet and post, I'm going to try for next month. That's another fear for another time, having situations arise that prevent me from attending or doing an event or project. I've posted a list of the members blogs below so if you get a chance, swing by a few and check them out!

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Short Story-Here's a Chance To Send In a Submission!

2011-08-31T23:00:00.000-05:00

Have y'all been thinking about sending in a short story for publication? Here's a few links to check out!

Writer's Digest-11/15/11-Short Story
Writer's Digest-09/15/11-Mystery

Critique or Edit-How To Add Comments....

2011-08-29T06:01:00.001-05:00

Critique, Edit & Erase..Picture property of Frets.Com

As I've posted before, Clarissa, over at Listen To The Voices, is offering to match up critiquing buddies. I connected with one, Nicole who offered to critique the first chapter of my book.

Needless to say, I'm nervous. Her's and Clarissa's critique was professional and had entries that I had no idea how they did it. Specifically, comments and framing words, lines and paragraphs with colored dotted frames and comments in balloons and arrows. I played around with my computer for a few days. Looked in Power Point and other places. Finally, I found my answer in Word! It was so simple.

The comment is found under Insert, then scroll down to comment (told you it was simple). You place your cursor after the word or sentence you want to add the comment, then click on insert, then comment. The comment box will open on the right (hadn't solved how to get it to print on the left). You then type your comment in the box. If you highlight and copy to post on your blog for some reason, the comment boxes won't transfer. What happens is your initials with the comment number shows and then the actual comment appears at the bottom of your post.

At the bottom, she rested for a breath.[JAH1]

[JAH1]Good paragraph!

The border or frame is found under Format, then Borders & Shading. First you highlight the word, line or paragraph. Then click on Format, then Borders & Shading, then highlight style you want to use, then color then size. Her mom’s music. [JAH1]

[JAH1]Fragmented sentence

Does anyone have any suggestions or advice on how to critique? Elizabeth Spann Craig, Mystery Writing Is Murder, is constantly Twittering great sights to check out. She listed the following at Inkpunks, Critical Reading Means Criticizing Your Reading! You might want to check it out.

Mandy (1997-2011-black & white one) & China Doll

I Received An Award! I love Awards!

2011-08-25T06:00:00.001-05:00

German meaning Sweetheart or Dearest Blog

I want to thank Nicole Pyles, for this award. Hers is a recent blog site, The World of My Imagination, that I've discovered. Her posts are informative and she writes in such an upbeat way! I agree with Nicole too, "the blogging community is great."

The rules of this award are:

1. Thank the giver (thank you Nicole)

2. Pass on the award to 4-5 other blogs with less than 200 followers. Leave a comment and be sure to follow

them.

1. Nicole Wolverton @ Nicole Wolverton

2. The Wild Magnolia

3. gaelikaa @ gaelikaa's diary

4. The Desert Rocks

Let's give a round of applause for the above bloggers!

My First Rejection Letter!

2011-08-23T06:00:00.001-05:00

I dread this season, even though I love the cool weather!

Okay, so it wasn't eight weeks before they let me know my story was rejected. But I'm not as devastated as much as I was expecting. Disappointed yes, but thankfully I've received comments and encouragement since I posted my "Sent My First Story In".

The most frequent and most posted advice was, send in more! Don't just rely upon one story! So that's what I've been doing! Writing, revising and reading other blogs about critique and getting on with it!

Have you ever thought about whether you're a Genius or Late Bloomer writer? Elizabeth S. Craig, Mystery Writing Is Murder, tweeted the following link for the difference of the two, Writer Unboxed.

Me, I'm a late bloomer.

A late Bloomer-how beautiful!

Picture Story Blogs...Or..A Story Through Pictures!

2011-08-21T06:00:00.001-05:00

Manila & Luna Harper 1914

Manila Harper 1915

Arville Harper 1906-1908

Oscar & Arville Harper & Brandon ?

Arville & Manila (Hilley) Harper 1915

Clifford, Arville, Manila & Bernum Harper 1917

Mavis, Arville, Clifford, Bernum

Manila & Flora Harper 1920-1921

Have you ever visited blogs where there are pictures displayed and without any written words, except the captions, you know what the pictures are telling. I love those kind of blogs.

If you were writing about the above pictures, what would you say?

I would love to read what you write...in the comments, link your story to here so we can read.

Another Writer's Blog-There Are So Many Good Ones!

2011-08-19T07:00:00.001-05:00

Stillwater, Oklahoma 2009

Over the last few days I've visited other blog sites. They are so good! I learn from them and am awed by their posts and the philosophy of what their trying to do, which is to help other writers.

How do you find your Niche or as I and Abby like to say Nitch for your blog? This is a question that I've pondered frequently. Abby Kerr, offers a 10 part e-course on this subject if you subscribe to Inklings her weekly-ish e-newsletter. I decided to do this course.

For the Lesson 1, Abby Kerr gives two questions to "spend some time mulling over right this minute." Actually it's a question wrapped around multi-questions.

If your enterprise/blogsite is already up, open, active, in progress, do this:

1. Within the work you currently do, what's the best part? What makes you feel the most exhilarated? The most useful? The coolest? The most connected to your right people? The most seen for who you really are and want to be? Or, put another way, if you could hire people to do every part of your current work that you don't totally love, what would be the part you'd save for yourself? (The best part)

2. You meet a cool new person at a party with whom you immediately feel at ease. Your new acquaintance asks you what you do for a living. You're relaxed and you don't feel the need to impress or overstate anything. You say...what kind of work you do.

I'm going to think about these questions a few days. I know, in the past, I love coming up with pictures for Tuesday Morning Writings that I had and then creating a story for the picture. I enjoyed this most when others shared stories about the picture they chose to write about. I know I love to share my research and writing about my steps to become a published professional writer.

Returning from taking a break from my blog makes me feel as though I'm starting over! Here are a couple of good sites to check out:

Clarrisa Draper, who, at present, is sponsoring matching critiquing buddies.

Elizabeth Spann Craig, her web site has been listed in Writer's Digest 101 Best Websites for writers in 2010 and 2011.

Gail M. Baugniet, notice the color and how you're drawn in.

Jan Morrison, she has great writing challenges.

Writer's Digest is another great website to visit.

Has My Story Been Accepted?

2011-08-17T07:00:00.000-05:00

From The Mystery Place Website

For the first few ~~hours~~ days, I went to the website to check the status of my submission. Gradually I've weaned myself to only a couple of times a day. Everyone I talk with, says send out more stories! So now I'm going through, seeing the ones that might be worth submitting and preparing them to send in. Has anyone found a good short story cover letter?

Editing a story-Who, Where and How?

2011-08-16T07:00:00.010-05:00

Judy & brother, photo property of Judy Harper, about 1956

For my first story I used my daughter, a two friends and my sister as editors. One friend's point of view was to see if my thoughts didn't complete thoughts that raised questions that needed to be answered; was there confusion about what I wanted to say and tense, past or present. My sister loves to read, so did the story keep her interested. Was it straight forward or did it wonder around too much. My daughter and second friend was grammar, did I start and end the paragraph in the same tense, which I'm finding is a problem with me.

Is this good editing? Should I pay to have someone edit? How much would it cost to have a professional edit my work? This subject is something I'm going to research. I very serious about becoming a profession writer.

I SENT IN A STORY FOR THE FIRST TIME, EVER!

2011-08-15T07:00:00.006-05:00

Tinker ready to go! Property of Judy Harper

Three of us had made a pact to write, revise, critique and send in a story! To me, the hardest part was sending it in, I mean what if it's rejected, what then? Anyway, on July 31, 2011, I submitted a story to "Ellery Queen Magazine". It was about 3000 words. A mystery with a twist. We'll see!

Once I decided to send in a story, questions arose. The number one being proper manuscript format and what about the cover letter for a short story. Ellery Queen Magazine recommends the following format, William Shunn's guide to Proper Manuscript Format. It is very helpful. It explains that you should double space, don't compensate for new paragraphs as the 5 space indention will let people know you've started a new thought. There are some new grammatical points, such as don't space after a period or semicolon or colon. So while it is in the correct format, there are very useful points and information written as though it is the story.

The cover letter for a short story is different than that of a novel. I don't know if the one I used is correct, I mean it was so simple. I just went on the internet and typed in short story cover letter. I'm going to do more research into this.

Ellery Queen Magazine assigns a submission number with a link that I can check to see at what point my story is in the submission process. They do say that it might take up to 8 weeks for the story to be read and notification as to whether it was accepted or not. They also state that due to the number of submissions they won't be able to critique the story. I was disappointed to hear this as it would be helpful to know why my story was accepted or rejected. Anyway, we'll see!

It's taken me 40 years to send in a story, something I'm regretting! So if you have a story, send it in, no matter what. Just think of how it will affect your future. What a different path you will follow! Letting go of a story with the prospect of being rejected wasn't as bad as I envisioned. The regret of waiting so long is so much worse! I look back now and say "if only" or "what if"!

Why A Private Blog For Writing?

2011-06-12T20:13:00.000-05:00

A beautiful Dogwood tree April 2011 picture by Judy Harper

The blog A Creative Writer's Workshop has been turned into a private blog. The reason for this is that writing stories of a certain length and open for all to read constitutes being published. So if you wanted to send in a story from the blog, some agents won't accept it. So this way we can communicate with each other about editing, problems and help. We're able to post and read, then offer advice or suggestions.

Should anyone be interested in joining our group, just leave a comment and how to get in touch with you. I'll present you to the group and we can make the workshop available for you to use.

How To Use My NaNo Experience!

2010-12-03T20:30:00.002-06:00

Two sides of a coin! My ship was the Fantasy!

I chose the picture of the two ships for a reason. One of the most overwhelming detractions to writing a novel had been what to write about, so many choices, how and what to write about!

I still hadn't made a decision, definitely, until a few days before NaNo was to start and it wasn't until I actually sat down and started typing that I knew what to write about. For years I wanted to start a novel but about what and who? I could come up with all kinds of stories, but what could I write about that would equate to 75,000 words? It wasn't until one of my favorite blogsites helped me. Elizabeth Spann Craig of Mystery Writing Is Murder , has a site dedicated to helping the writer, be it beginner or established, responded to one of my comments.

I commented, "I'm not sure as to what to write about on NaNoWriMo. I'm not sure of my genre. I receive a lot of comments when I blog about my Air Force experiences, but I like to write mysteries."

Her advice was "had I ever thought about combining the two? Fictionalize my time in the Air Force, make it a mystery." So that's what I did! What a relief to finally have a focus to writing a novel. I now had a story. The point of the ships pictures above is "I had a Fantasy about writing a book, and it's pure Ecstasy now that I have a novel started. It makes it so much easier and more fun to sit down and write words about something I know and can turn into a story. After all, I've always heard that when starting out, write about something you know! If you ever get a chance, watch the movie "I Remember Mama", even if you have to rent it. Though it comes on TMC periodically.

1948

"Irene Dunne stars as the title character in George Stevens' beautifully wrought film version of the Kathryn Forbes novel via John Van Druten's stage adaptation. Returning, in memory, to her childhood in 1910 San Francisco, novelist Katrin Hanson (Barbara Bel Geddes) thinks of the importance of her mother Marta's (Dunne) role in the life of the family of Norwegian immigrants. As she deals with the children's problems and aspirations, such as brother Nels' (Steve Brown) schooling, Katrin's writing ambitions, young Dagmar's (June Hedin) illness, and a thousand other daily dramas, Marta manages to make all feel equally loved. She's also able to deal with eccentrics like the blustery family patriarch, Uncle Chris Halvorsen (Oscar Homolka), the family's highly literary non-paying tenant Jonanthan Hyde (Cedric Hardwicke), and spinster Aunt Trina (Ellen Corby), who is almost afraid to announce her forthcoming wedding. A final gesture of Marta's generosity at Katrin's graduation is symbolic of the spirit that is her legacy."

This film is where I picked up on writing about what you know. When you view the film, you will understand what it means. Such simple advice.

So, what about you, what genre are you more comfortable with? What are you familiar with that could be turned into a story?

NaNo Is Over! Sanity Can Return!

2010-12-02T13:02:00.000-06:00

Snow Storm, March 2009

The 50,000 words in 30 days is over! Though I only made 20,250, I learned a lot. I also view this experience as a success rather than a failure.

This is the first time in my writing life I have written that many words towards a novel. I have written short stories up to 4,000, but never 20,250 words toward a story! I now have a good first draft toward a book, let me say that again, a book. I chose a story, I actually sat down and began writing toward a novel with the same characters, a beginning, almost a middle and an end. That in itself is a miracle. Up until I typed the first word I still wasn't sure what to write about. Do you know, once I sat down and started writing it was as though words flowed, like I had them all stored up and now that the bucket was tipped over, they came pouring out!

Now, here are some of the things I learned.....It takes me about four hours to write 2000 words or 500 words an hour. It's very difficult for me to just write, I find that I mentally edit what I've written. I also had a problem just writing without verifying if it was real. If a memory didn't feel right, I stopped and Googled or pulled out pictures and notes. What I'm writing about is a period in my life. I took this time, fictionalized it, added a murder and made it into a story. I have always heard that a person should write about what they know, which is what I did, with modification. Because of this, there were certain episodes, that I pulled out pictures to be sure of scenery and personal information. While this is good it also can slow a person down because I'm mentally visualizing people and things that happened forty years ago.

Two other important facts I learned, don't plan any other events during November if you're planning to do the NaNoWriMo! I lost a week carrying out a project at my church. I won't do that again, I'll plan that for another month, because once you're behind, it's hard to catch up! The second fact is that for those of us who celebrate Thanksgiving, all writing must be done by the Wednesday before Thanksgiving. Once family and socializing begins, it's hard to find a place to write or even worse, making yourself write! Especially when being around people you haven't seen in six months to a year.

Once I knew I wasn't going to make the 50,000 by the 30th, I started writing as though I would publish my story. I now have a good first draft. The fact that I'm over the overwhelming feeling of what to write about and that I have a beginning and now headed to the middle encourages me to sit down and continue as I know what direction to take and basically which direction my novel is going. Though I found out that ideas, characters and situation will pop up from nowhere.

How about y'all, did any of you do the NaNoWriMo? What did you gain from this experience?

NaNo has started and Me Too!

2010-11-02T06:00:00.002-05:00

Fall, my favorite season

I have started! I sat at my computer for forty-five minutes trying to decide what to write about, and finally came up with a plot. It's true I only wrote 811 words tonight, but it's a start. Tomorrow I'll have the extra time of not having to decide my novel title and theme, plus now that I have a direction, I can plot, dream and write. NaNo is slow at the moment, they had a note that from all over the world, there are over 154,000 people doing NaNo, 154,000 people! Lisa and gaelikaa are doing good. I think gaelikaa has written 2900 words and Lisa 3400. How about y'all? How many words have you written and did you have a hard time coming up with a novel title and plot?

What to Write About for NaNoWriMo?

2010-11-01T22:09:00.000-05:00

Me and my brother 1956

Well, it's here! November 1st, and NaNoWriMo! I'm excited and worried, I still am not sure what I want to write about. I have several choices and I don't know which one to chose! I'm going for it though, so wish me luck as well as Lisa and gaelikaa! Here goes, 50,000 words in 30 days!

TMW-Across The Sea

2010-10-26T00:01:00.001-05:00

Picture property of Agnes

Lisa talked about "The Structure of The Story" ,or Gustav Freytag's triangle. There's exposition, background information needed to understand the story; rising action, internal and related conflicts being introduced; climax, or turning point of the story, from good to bad or bad to good. Falling action, where the protagonist winning or losing against the antagonist is in doubt. Finally, resolution or conclusion of the story.

This week, I'm going to deal with exposition of "Across The Sea". The reason for this is the upcoming National Novel Writing Month in November or NaNoWriMo or NaNo. I don't usually outline or structure my short story. I just sit down and begin to write. But in November, I've got to write 50,000 words, so I feel I need to have structure to follow to write a novel.

Exposition, per the article on Freytag's Pyramid, consists of early material providing the theme, establishing the setting, and introducing the major characters and sometimes early hints of the coming conflict. I have one major character, Andrea or Andy for short. The setting is by the sea, what sea? Do we need to give it a name or use a true location?

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Andy sat by the sea, listening to the lapping water as the small waves continually rolled onto the beach. The brown pea shaped pebbles quivered in the water. She reached down with her hand and picked up a few of them. Thinking about the past three days since she had arrived, just waiting for some word that all were safe.

Andy is short for Andrea. Andrea Carmichael was born to Air Force Major Thomas Carmichael and Lillian Carmichael while they were stationed at Kadena AFB, Okinawa, on April 15, 1980. Maybe that's why Andy loved anything to do with the Orient. The smell of sandalwood and flowers. The beautiful and fragile artwork. The gentleness of the people. She was twelve when her Dad was transferred to another assignment, but she never forgot the years at Okinawa. Eighteen years had passed, she had turned thirty last month. Andy thought about this past Christmas when her Mom, Dad and younger brother, Danial, had decided to plan a return trip to Okinawa. She became excited about the trip, making plans, emailing back and forth as to where they would stay, where they would go and who they would see.

Since her divorce a year ago, Andy wasn't bringing anyone. Emily, Danial's wife, was coming, so that made five people to plan for. Andy would be the first to arrive as she would be leaving from Birmingham, Alabama and flying over. Everyone else couldn't finish up their work until the following day, so they were going to leave from New Orleans. What a difference a day can make.

LBC-Favorite Ad Lines

2010-10-22T08:41:00.000-05:00

The Loose Bloggers Consortium, is an informal group of bloggers who post on a given topic each Friday. One topic is posted, then each member gives it their individual treatment. The current members are, in alphabetical order:

CONRAD, GAELIKAA, GRANNYMAR , MAGPIE11, MARIA,and RUMMUSER (MARIANNA is on hiatus).

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"Call For Phillip Morris"
"Johnny-Bellhop dies at 88"

Ipana Toothpaste-Bucky Beaver

1955 Jello Commercial

Armour Hotdogs

Coca Cola
Coke Polar Bear Commercial

TMW-Bees Do Bite

2010-10-19T00:01:00.002-05:00

Looks like we might get some honey......

One of the reasons I like living in rural country is the feeling of being in the middle of nature. Planting a vegetable garden, watching it grow. The sounds of farm animals and the humming of honey bees. I like driving by farms with the rows of beehive houses.

My neighbor on the right has beehive houses. Sometimes I see him dressed in his protection suit, holding a plate up so the sun shines through, an intense look on his face. A look I recognize too well.

Alton Manley is a greedy man. He never has enough of anything, be it honey, money or land. He will do anything to get what he wants, no matter the pain or humiliation he causes.

I had only been in my new home a week when I personally met Alton. I was out for my morning walk when I saw him working with his beehives, he looked up as I walked past. I smiled and waved.

On my return he was waiting at the fence for me, "You bought the old Miller place, how much you want to sell it for".

I put out my hand to shake his, "My name is Millie, Millie Post".

He ignored my outstretched hand, "Alton Manley. How much you want for your place?"

"It's not for sell." And continued on the quarter mile to my house.

I soon began to walk a different route and if I saw him first, I tried to find somewhere to hide. No matter how many times I told him, "it's not for sell", he never listened.

Lily, another woman in the community, and I soon became best friends. She taught me how to can and freeze my vegetables. She informed me that Andrew Miller, whom I bought the farm from, and Alton had a falling out over something that only they knew about. Since then, they had become enemies and were always trying to one up each other. When Andrew decided to sell his farm, Alton had made an offer, but was refused. The rumor was that Alton tried to run Andrew down with his truck, but there were no witnesses.

I began to notice items missing, little things at first, such as small tools. Then fencing began to be torn down.

"Lily, I'm telling you I think it's Alton."

"Millie, you're probably right. You might call in the Sheriff and make him aware of what's going on."

I called the Sheriff and he came out to look around.

"Millie, I'll go and have a talk with Alton, though I don't know if it will do any good." He stood there looking across the field at Alton's place. He's a strange man, did you know he's allergic to bees?"

Now that was an interesting tidbit of news.

Two days later, Lily called me, "Millie, have you heard?"

"Heard what?"

"Alton was gathering honey from his beehives, when bees got inside his clothing and stung him. Mason Whitmire, you know the man that helps Alton, said it was the strangest sight. First Alton held up the wax covered with honey bees. He made the statement, "Looks like we might get some honey". Mason said the next instant he threw it down and started slapping his sides, his back, then he twisted and turned, all that commotion stirred up the bees. Then Alton took off running to the house. Mason said he made it to the gate, before he fell over onto the ground. By the time he caught up with Alton, he realized he was dead. Died from bee stings."

It was a good thing Lily couldn't see through the phone as I stood there smiling to myself, "My goodness. That's such a shame."

Lily continued as though I hadn't said anything, "You know, Millie, Alton is usually so careful with his protection suit. I just don't see how he was stung. It surely is odd."

After I hung up the phone, I walked over to the kitchen window and looked at Alton's farm, yes, it surely is odd. At least I won't have to avoid him anymore. Did you know that a bee can take a needle size hole and squirm it's way through? I bet Alton didn't think much about those pin holes in his suit.

Do You Know Your Writing Genre?

2010-10-16T09:56:00.000-05:00

Property of Jennifer Bennett

Lisa, in her post Genre at A Creative Writers' Workshop, asks the questions "Does writing to fit a specific genre limit one's creativity, divert the muse? Or is chiseling one's work to meet the definition of a particular genre part of the 'art' of writing? "

I guess I've never really thought about my genre, but I have a tendency to write mystery or suspense. Which might raise the question, what's the difference between mystery and suspense? If you get a chance go to Lisa's blog and read her story "Duck Weed" , which I think is a great story to publish! I'm hoping she'll follow through, and if she does, I've agreed to contribute a story. I just don't know which one. I know, I'll have a poll/contest, once I figure out how to do this, I'll let y'all link the your favorite story of mine that you think should be published, and the one with the most links is the one I'll work on! Y'all can be my editors!

LBC-Memory Lane

2010-10-15T07:00:00.001-05:00

Picture property of Judy Harper

CONRAD, GAELIKAA, GRANNYMAR , MAGPIE11, MARIA,and RUMMUSER (ANU, ASHOK,GINGER,HELEN,MARIANNA are on hiatus).

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This weeks topic was contributed by Grannymar
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Memory Lane is such a beautiful lane, with all kinds of flowers running along each side, sometimes it twists and turns, goes up and down and then straight for many miles. Usually, most people walk along wearing rose colored glasses, pointing out that fond memory and then clapping their hands to their chest and laughing with glee as they find one of their favorite scenes. Oh, that Christmas when they received a doctor's medicine bag filled with a stethoscope and play needles and medicine or the stuffed French poodle. Rarely are there unpleasant events brought out, as they're better left hidden.

Memory Lane is such a pleasant place.

The smiles and laughs, the joy!

Sitting by the window, watching the raindrops splatter .

Seeing the water circle out in ever widening rings.

Staring, letting the past pictures form, like a movie.

Seeing the people as they were, never aging, never changing.

Feeling the warmth of those you love, hearing them, smiling as you

Hug the emotion back with you.

Memory Lane is such a pleasant place.

Are You Up For A Publishing/Submitting Challenge?

2010-10-14T12:53:00.000-05:00

Colonel Mustard Wants You ...........

Remember the old Uncle Sam photo that encouraged people to sign up for the military, "Uncle Sam Wants You!"? Well, Lisa has challenged us to submit a story, go to Publication Only Happens With....I for one am going to accept. If you do, let me and Lisa know so we can be Publishing/Submitting buddies!

TMW-It Isn't What It Seems

2010-10-12T00:01:00.002-05:00

Photo property of gaelikaa

It was strange to see her car outside the house at this time of day.......

It's strange being retired, not rushing to finish dressing to head off to work. Now, I still get up at the same old five o'clock in the morning, but I sit watching the morning news and drinking me a cup of coffee. Then I head out for a walk around the neighborhood. That's how I got to know Mattison, across the street. She doesn't go into work until nine o'clock. Sometimes she'll walk with me before leaving for work. But she is always gone by eight thirty; that's why is was strange to see her car outside the house at this time of day, ten thirty. As I stood there washing my cup, I wondered if I should go and check on her. I wish I had her phone number; I made a mental note to ask her for it.

I decided to go across and check on her. I tapped on the front door, "Mattison, everything okay? You in there?"

I heard movement inside, then locks turning before she opened the door. I was shocked by her appearance, her lipstick was smeared and she had a bruise on her right check. She stood there with the door only partially opened, her housecoat wrapped around her, yet I could tell she had on her business outfit.

"Yes, I fine", she said, not meeting my eyes. "I just have a cold and needed to stay home today. Thanks for coming by."

"Do you need anything from the store?"

"No, but thanks", she turned and closed the door.

I slowly walked back to my house. Something wasn't right. Once inside I called Detective David Bowman, whom Mattison sometimes dated, "David, have you talked with Mattison today?"

"No, I haven't talked with her all week, why?"

I explained to him about what I had seen, "Do you think it could be anything I need to worry about?"

I could tell he was trying to decide what to tell me, "Has Mattison told you about needing to place her mother into a nursing home?"

"Yes, what has that got to do with anything?"

"Her mother's room won't be available until Saturday, so she's staying with Mattison until then. I know that she's reached the stage in her illness where she can become violent. You're right to be concerned, I'll go by and make sure everything is fine."

As I hung up I laughed at myself, making a mountain out of a molehill. Here I had her being held as a hostage and needing to be rescued. I definitely had too much time on my hands.

What is NaNoWriMo?

2010-10-10T07:28:00.000-05:00

NaNoWriMo is coming up. As the web site states, this is the month that people from all over the world write by the seat of their pants. The goal is to write 50,000 words in 30 days! It's starts November 1st and goes through November 30th. I have always said I wanted to write a novel, but for whatever reasons I can come up with, I haven't, so now I'm going to put my money where my mouth is and go for it. Of course, to me, coming up with which subject I want to write a book about is the hardest decision. For more information about NaNo and to sign up, you should check out this site National Novel Writing Month. This site will guide you through sign up, FAQ, forums, writing buddies and news. Be sure to join a forum from your region, some groups have group get togethers for support. So come and join me next month for NaNo! If you're planning to join, let me know so we can be writing buddies!

LBC-Secrets

2010-10-08T07:00:00.009-05:00

Picture Property of Christi Spatz 2007

CONRAD, GAELIKAA, GRANNYMAR , MAGPIE11, MARIA,and RUMMUSER (ANU, ASHOK,GINGER,HELEN,MARIANNA are on hiatus ) .

This Weeks topic is Secrets contributed by gaelikaa

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There are all kinds of secrets. The fun secrets are planning a birthday party or knowing a new baby is on the way. Then you have "dark secrets", such as knowing that someone murdered another, or that someone is planning something evil.
How many times have you heard, "She/he will take his/her secret to the grave"?

Two weekends ago, we had a domestic murder/suicide happen to one of our suppliers. The company I've worked for has done business with his company for years. He was fifty-nine, his wife also was fifty-nine and his brother was sixty-one or two.

It is a shock to have something like this happen to someone I know. She had filed for a divorce over a year ago, but only finalized it the Thursday before the homicide happened. It wasn't the divorce that prompted the murder/suicide, or at least that's what people are saying that knew them. His brother was mentally disabled, and it was told that she wanted to have him come live with her as her husband had started drinking heavily after selling his business back in January. There was concern that the brother wouldn't be cared for properly. The fight started on Thursday, with the husband leaving and not returning until Friday. They found a fast food bag on his desk, with a breakfast sandwich inside. Since it was just the three of them there, no one knows who and what started the disagreement back up. They know the wife was first shot with buckshot in her shoulder, which splattered up the side of her neck and face. They know she was able to call 911, they know he shot his brother, they also know he came back and shot her again, then he went outside to his car, and inside the car, shot himself. But why did he kill his brother, why did he shoot his wife? I mean here is a multimillionaire, who was still young, and had the ability to do anything he wanted, yet he ended three lives. This is one of those secrets that they took to their grave.

I use to love to watch a television show from the fifties called "I've Got A Secret". I think all of us have a secret. Something we don't want anyone else to know.

Here's a short excerpt from a story I wrote about "A Castle's Secret".

Lady Meredith crept along the darkened hallway, touching the wall to guide her to the top of the stairs. When she reached the stairs, she paused and listened to see if she could hear their voices, her mother-in-law, Lady Aileen and her husband Lord Bradford Buchanan. Cautiously she started down the steps. When she reached the curve of the rail, she stopped again, knowing that she was now half way down. A shiver ran down her spine, turning, she looked back up the stairs. She knew she wouldn't see anyone or anything, or at least she hoped she wouldn't. She almost signed with relief but at the last minute caught her breath, realizing the acoustics were so, that it would be heard. She hated the castle at night.

The castle had been built with windows everywhere, the sun filled the hallways with sunshine and light. She loved the East side of the castle where she could look out and see Jamison, the gardener, working among the flower beds and lawn. He was the best gardener around, it was as though he personally nurtured each flower, in turn they grew to amazing size and bloomed huge beautiful blooms.

Lady Meredith finished descending the steps and continued on down the hallway to the great room where she knew they were. She hoped they had left the door open so she could hear what they were saying. She was on the West side of the castle, but when she passed the large bay window, she didn't look out, she knew there was a full moon and she would see the tombstone of her dead father-in-law, Lord Bryon Buchanan. Why would anyone bury someone so close to their home? That's why during the daytime, she stayed on the East side, so she wouldn't look out the window and see the ornate stone used to signify that he had died and lay underneath. She sometimes wondered if it was her mother-in-laws way of keeping him here or at least his memory. After all, he was the "love of her life", or so Lady Aileen claimed. One really never knew when she was being sarcastic or serious. Lady Aileen had a dry sense of humor. Bishop Thomas said, "Her sense of humor is so dry, that he sometimes thinks it shriveled up and blew away".

The great room door was open, she peeked through the crack to see if she could see where they were. As usual, her mother-in-law sat as close as possible to the fire in her special Queen Anne chair and Bradford sat on the sateen with his feet on the ottoman smoking his pipe. His body scooted down on his spine, his head laying back, looking up, pondering, she never knew what he was thinking about.

Suddenly, Bradford turned to his mother, "You think the gift will arrive in time? I received a post yesterday saying it was on it's way and should be here by Saturday."

Should you want to finish reading the story, go Here..........

TUESDAY MORNING PICTURES FOR 10/12/10

2010-10-07T12:48:00.009-05:00

Colonel Mustard

The pictures for next week's TMW can be found at A Creative Writers' Workshop! so grab one and start writing so you can post your story on Tuesday!

TMW-The Crashing Waves

2010-10-05T00:01:00.003-05:00

As the waves crashed in due to the storm, she felt a rising sense of panic.....(Photo property of Rachel Cotterill)

Usually Catherine loved to stand and watch the water along the coastline as a winter storm moved in. As she stood there, the wind whipped her long auburn hair against her face and her coat against her legs. The only sound that could be heard was the water and the wind. As the waves crashed in due to the storm, she felt a rising sense of panic, what if the police didn't arrive in time! Unless a helicopter brought them out, the sea was the only way onto the island, and in this weather, Catherine knew it would be impossible for them to fly out.

As she stood there deep in thought, the thunder and roar of the water hitting the rocks covered Jackson's approaching footsteps. Catherine wasn't aware he was there until he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close to him.

"A penny for your thoughts."

For a moment she stiffened, then relaxed, knowing that he mustn't suspect she knew what he had done. That the man she had fallen in love with, the man she was engaged to, was a killer.

"I love to watch the sea as a storm moves in. It will be dark before long, so I thought I would watch for a while."

Jackson turned her to face him, "Your nose is cold, and I bet your feet are freezing. Your mom sent me to bring you back to the house and a nice warm fire. She said you'd lose all track of time and miss supper if I didn't come to get you."

He kissed her on the forehead, released her and taking one of her hands, they started back to the house.

As they started up the path, he asked, "Will you miss living on the island once we're married?"

"Yes, but I'll be with you so that will help."

"Catherine, what will happen to the island once your parents die?"

She stepped over some rocks on the path before she answered, "It will come to me, along with the house in Maine, while my brother Barry will get the law firm and Susan will inherit the house in New York. Why"

" No reason."

Catherine wasn't fooled, she knew he had a reason for asking. Jackson had told her he was from Ashville, Alabama. Monday while she was on the Internet she had typed in Asheville rather than Ashville. A story, along with a photo, popped up of a manhunt for a man suspected of killing his mother, father and wife who had escaped while on trial for their murder, she knew what he planned to do. Thankfully she had managed to talk with Sheriff Bailey last night before the phone and power lines were knocked out by the storm.

They stomped their muddy feet against the top step before entering the kitchen. The warmth spread over them as they stepped toward the fireplace that took up one wall of the kitchen. The kitchen was so inviting with the smell of the cooking bread and roast.

She took off her coat and hung it on the peg by the door. Then went to stand in front of the fire, stretching her hands toward the flame.

Her mom came through the door, "I can't believe Sheriff Bailey was on the island hunting when this storm hit. He asked if he and Joseph could spend the night. I'll make pallets in here after supper for them to sleep on. I hope that will be alright as all the beds are taken."

I glanced at Jackson standing beside me, his face had a quick look of anger, "Beggars can't be choosy. Do they hunt here much, and why today?"

Her mom pulled bowls from the cabinet as she readied the food to be placed on the dinning room table, "That's what I asked him. He said being the Sheriff he had to take any chance he could to relax, and today was his day off."

Most of the meal was eaten in silence as the storm raged outside. Each thinking their own thoughts, only occasionally looking up from their plates. Once when she glanced up, she caught the Sheriff's eye. He acted as though nothing was wrong.

When she went into the kitchen for the coffee, he offered to help. As she poured the coffee into the cups, he only had enough time to tell her "not to worry" before Jackson came through the door.

He walked over to the table, "I thought I would see if you needed me to bring in the milk and sugar."

Catherine pointed to the counter by the refrigerator, "Sure, it's over there."

Finally the table was cleared, pallets made and everyone in their rooms. She lay there, still dressed in her clothes, waiting for any creaking boards, and she wasn't sure what else.

She felt stiff as she opened her eyes to the bright sun shining through the windows. Turning over onto her back, Catherine realized she still had on her shoes. She felt cold and tired from a poor nights sleep. She sat straight up and threw back the covers as she remembered that the Sheriff was downstairs. She couldn't believe nothing had happened during the night.

After unlocking her bedroom door, she peered out into the hallway. She could smell the coffee and cooking bacon. As she stepped off the last step of the staircase and headed toward the kitchen, she heard her mother ask, "Why do you think Jackson stole your boat?"

"Mattie, I'll explain everything once Catherine comes down. That way I'll only have to go over it once."

"Well I'm here now, so explain."

She walked across to the coffeepot and poured herself a cup of coffee before sitting down at the table.

Sheriff Bailey was sitting beside her mom, his elbows on the table, taking a sip of coffee, "It seems that Jackson murdered his family back in Asheville eight years ago."

Her mother gasped, "What!"

"One afternoon after a court session as he was being driven back to the jail, the van was involved in an accident, which allowed Jackson to escape. They've had a manhunt out for him ever since. There's a pattern that he's used since his escape. It's happened twice before, he meets a wealthy woman, they get married and he murders her family and her, allowing him to inherit their money."

Her mother starred at him, "He was going to kill us and then kill Catherine?"

"Yes."

Her mother continued, "But how did you know he was here?"

"Catherine called me."

Her mother turned to her, "You called him?"

Shaking her heard, Catherine explained about finding the story on the Internet.

Her mom reached across the table and took her hands, "Oh, Baby, I am so sorry".

Catherine looked at the Sheriff, "What did mom mean when she asked about Jackson taking your boat."

"I'm not sure how he got past me and Joseph, but he managed to steal the boat and head for town. What he didn't know, though, is that because of the storm, we didn't take time to fill up the tanks with diesel before we left to come over here. I thought we could do it this morning before we left. He might make it halfway across the channel, but he won't make it back to town. With those waves rolling like they were, there's a good chance the boat will be flipped over."

We all turned toward the window as we heard the sound of a helicopter approaching.

Standing, Sheriff Bailey pushed his chair back and headed for the door, "That will be Andy. The phone service is back on and I gave him a call telling him what was going on."

Mom and I followed him down to the landing, anxious to find out any news. We watched as the Sheriff stood by the open hatch door, talking with Joseph, holding onto his hat as the wind from the rotor blades tried to blow it off his head.

Finally he slammed the door shut and headed our way as the whine of the motor picked up as it rose into the air, banked a sharp right and headed back across the channel.

He stopped in front of me, "They found the boat three miles down stream. It had crashed onto the rocks just around Baker's Bend. His body was down in the cabin. They're not sure yet whether he died from drowning or trauma. They'll have to wait for an autopsy to be sure. I'm sorry, Catherine. But I'd it rather be him then you and your family. I've got to head back, Darrell brought over the other boat, so I'm going back to notify Asheville and deal with getting it settled. When I find out anything more, I'll give you a call."

As I watched him walk away I realized for him all the lose ends were tied up, but for me, there were so many more answers to questions I needed, but would probably never have.

Mom touched my shoulder, "Come on Catherine, let's go inside where it's warm."

Do You Have a Problem with Keeping Momentum?

2010-10-04T12:56:00.001-05:00

A doll My Daughter Made

If you have trouble keeping up your writing momentum, check out the new content added to

A Creative Writers' Workshop

DO YOU FEEL A WRITER NEEDS TALENT?

2010-10-02T06:00:00.001-05:00

Oh, it won't be long till we have this again!

Check out this link at "A Creative Writers' Workshop", it talks about whether a writer needs talent, what do you think? Have you ever heard of the phrase "as a writer you must be bi-polar"

And remember to check out the photos for Tuesday Morning Writing that will be posted this coming Tuesday, 10/05/10

LBC-Wacky Ideas: People

2010-10-01T12:09:00.000-05:00

My nephew dressed as Captain Americia (Halloween)

Daughter and grandkids

Me (with glasses) clowning one morning in the Air Force, 1967

Nephews clowning!

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CONRAD, GAELIKAA, GRANNYMAR , MAGPIE11, MARIA,and RUMMUSER (ANU, ASHOK,GINGER,HELEN,MARIANNA are on hiatus ) .

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Magpie contributed this weeks topic-Wacky Ideas: People

Wacky ideas, particularly people, come in all shapes and sizes. From far out silly to just placing two fingers for horns in a picture.

In my youthful days, my brother loved to watch the three stooges. I wasn't as big a fan, but they were okay. Their slapstick humor was enjoyable, though after a while, it did get old.

The thing about whacky is that it usually is spontaneous, done without thought. It's as though a moment is grabbed to act out of the norm. Usually, this results in fun.

I hope y'all enjoy the pictues of a "whacky people momment!

TUESDAY MORNING PICTURES 10/05/10

2010-09-29T07:04:00.000-05:00

Colonel Mustard

Just a reminder, the new TMW pictures can be found on our new TMW site at the link below. Hopefully this will be easier to pull pictures and link stories. Hope y'all in the background will step up and contribute a story.

TMW PICTURES FOR 10/05/10 STORY

TUESDAY MORNING WRITING-Family Reunion

2010-09-28T00:01:00.005-05:00

Photograph by and property of Arthur Salvadore "Family Reunion"

Mattison stood looking out the window overlooking the old well house. It wasn't used anymore, except to store unused stuff, items that needed to be repaired, such as the old cane chair from Granny Sanderson's kitchen table. She must get out there and throw away what couldn't be used or given away. Sighing, Mattison laid her head against the cool window pane.

The family reunion today was a way to cook up the extra vegetables that people didn't want to freeze or can, as the summer season wound down. Glancing at the pantry door, she thought about the fifty cans of corn, twenty jars of pickles, all those stewed tomatoes, plus the pickled beets. Not so many of those as she would be the only one to eat them. She didn't know what it was about pickled beets that she loved. To eat a cooked beet almost made her gag, yet a pickled beet had a different flavor and texture. Pushing herself away from the window, she went to the sink to drain the water from the pan of boiled corn on the cob. David's corn crop had yielded too much for just the two of them to eat. She had sold the extra at the roadside market she'd set up, the money would come in handy during the winter.

Taking a potholder, Mattison walked to the stove and stirred the potatoes, trying to decide if she would make the potato salad by her Granny's old southern recipe or the one her Aunt Betty had sent her. She decided to stay with the familiar and use the southern recipe; a lot of people didn't like mustard in their potato salad.

She looked at the stove clock, it was after nine o'clock. People would start arriving soon, especially her Grandma Nell, who always showed up at ten o'clock, no matter the suggested time given to arrive . Mattison often wondered if she did this on purpose to see how organized or disorganized the hostess was.

This was the first family reunion they'd had at the old farm place since Granny Sanderson had died two years ago. Granny would definitely be missed, but one thing can be said about reunions, there would be plenty of delicious food available. Everyone tried to out cook each other, bringing out the family secret recipes.

A knock at the kitchen door brought her back to the present. Laying the spoon on the old saucer Granny had used to keep food from getting on the stove and drying to a crust, Mattison ran her fingers through her hair as she reached to open the door and let the first group in, welcoming the prospect of laughter, new babies, and of course, the enveloping hugs that always came with family reunions.

LBC-The "isms"

2010-09-24T07:00:00.001-05:00

Doric Temple, Segesta, Italy

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CONRAD, GAELIKAA, GRANNYMAR , MAGPIE11, MARIA,and RUMMUSER (ANU, ASHOK,GINGER,HELEN,MARIANNA are on hiatus ) . You might want to check out this link that describes each site, Friday and Mention a Few Blogs Day!

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Merriam-Webster's dictionary meaning: (1): a distinctive doctrine, cause, or theory

I wasn't for sure about how to address this weeks topic. So, I went on the Internet, that trusty well of information (trusty?). A distinctive doctrine, cause, or theory; I guess like tourism. Though I'm not sure whether that would be as listed doctrine, cause or theory. Brings to mind this sentence, "I think tourism is a booming business!".

I searched a bit further and ran across someone asking what a good definition of Capitalism, Socialism, Communism and Fascism would be. I discovered that the meaning of these words have changed since I was in school, at least, according to this website.

The site said "Capitalism" was suppose to represent a free market, but it's really nothing more than the idea that a person with wealth has a legitimate claim on a portion of whatever someone else might produce using his wealth." Socialism" is pretty nearly the opposite. Under socialism, all wealth-anything that can be put to productive use, including labor-is held in common and everything produced is likewise held in common. "Communism", is a specific case of socialism in which the means of production are seized by the lower echelons of society in a violent global revolution. And finally, "Fascism" is a political system (while capitalism and socialism are economics and communism is both economics and political) in which all power is held by the state and the individual has no rights unless granted them by the state.

Webster's dictionary gives the following meaning: Capitalism is an economic system, marked by open competition in a free market, in which the means of production and distribution are privately or corporately owned and development is proportionate to increasing accumulation and reinvestment of profits.A political or social system based on capitalism. Socialism is a social system in which the producers possess political power and the means of producing and distributing goods. The theory or practice of those who support such a social system. Communism is a social system marked by the common ownership of the means of production and common sharing of labor and products. A system of government in which the state controls the means of production and a single authoritarian party holds power with the intention of establishing a social order in which all goods are shared equally. Fascism is a philosophy or governmental system marked by stringent socioeconomic control, a strong central government headed by a dictator, and often a belligerently nationalistic policy.

Similar, yet the verbiage slant is questionable. Which is scary when I think of the youth of today going on line for information. If parents aren't monitoring their children's use of the Internet, just think about how much misinformation is learned, and due to their inexperience they're unable to tell the difference; nor do they have anyone to discuss the subject with to help them decide the correct path to follow.

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Conrad is the one to thank for coming up with this week's topic. There's so many insights and viewpoints to cover "isms". It's one that can be debated and written about and still never come up with complete agreement. Good one Conrad!

TUESDAY MORNING WRITING-EXCITING NEWS!

2010-09-22T12:30:00.000-05:00

Mark your calenders for September 29, 2010

A new blog is being created for Tuesday Morning Writing!

In the summer of 2009, I discovered the world of blogging and writing workshops. This is where I met Gaelikaa. She and I belonged to the same writing group, TMAST. Unfortunately, it was put on hiatus due to personal circumstances. After a few discussions, we decided to start "Tuesday Morning Writing".

Each week, pictures with a sentence to point in a direction, should it want to be used, was being posted, first on my site, A Creative Writer In Progress, then the next week on Gaelikaa's site, Write Away. As time went by, we wanted more, a permanent spot to post the pictures so people wouldn't have to try to remember which of us were hosting the current pictures. It seemed the Tuesday Morning Writing focus was getting lost in our other writings. Plus, we gained a new writing member, Lisa, Story Building One Line At A Time. Our combined enthusiasm has prompted us to create a website, specifically geared toward helping others practice writing, information in how to write, where to publish, if you will, an online workshop.

The intent is to have each of us rotate contributing to the site. A different one of us, each week, will be posting pictures, helpful websites, personal thoughts on how we worked through writer's block, how we come up with our inspirations and just thoughts about our personal journey. Hopefully, the different interests and experiences will encourage and help other writers.

SO, NEXT WEEK, September 29th, YOU WILL BE ABLE TO FIND THE TMW PICTURES at the A Creative Writers' Workshop .

Gaelikaa, Lisa and I hope this will encourage others to join us for Tuesday Morning Writings!

IN THE MEANTIME, REMEMBER YOU CAN PULL THE PICTURES TO WRITE ABOUT THAT WILL BE LINKED ON 09/28/10 AT STORY BUILDING ONE LINE AT A TIME!

My Little Gray Zipper

2010-09-21T00:01:00.002-05:00

Mom gave me this car on my sixteenth birthday..

I was looking through old pictures and found one of a gray VW with me standing at the open drivers door. Mom gave me this car on my sixteenth birthday.

I remember, Mom was making breakfast for me before I left for school. I looked by my plate, no card. Surely she didn't forget!

"Morning", I mumbled. If she wasn't going to remember, that's all she would get. I gulped my orange juice and ran out the door.

Stopping in my tracks, because there she sat, my little gray zipper, a huge red bow on top. I loved that car.

TUESDAY MORNING WRITING-09/21/10

2010-09-19T19:24:00.002-05:00

BIG BEN

Remember, the story this week for TMW, 09/21/10 needs only be 100 words from beginning to end! I know you can do it! The link for this weeks pictures is HERE.

Also new, we have a linky tool on the right, so you can start linking at 12:01 AM (Central Standard Time!!) Tuesday morning. This will be much easier than having to email a link, get it to someone to link, etc. Just remember though, it will close at 5:00 pm, Tuesday evening!

Saturday and the Continuing Saga of being in the Air Force!

2010-09-18T11:21:00.001-05:00

Can You Believe the long hair! Hemisfair, San Antonia, TX 1968

Notice my Polaroid camera. And if I remember correctly, the outfit is

one my mom made for me.

You might like to read the continuing saga of my time in the Air Force. This will be my seventh contribution to this series. This post touches on the first time I ran into cultural dislike. Not for what I did to her, but because I was from the South. You can read this Judy's In the Air Force Now!

To read the whole series, go to here and click on Air Force under Archives.

LBC-Inspiration

2010-09-17T08:00:00.005-05:00

Nothing like a rainy Saturday

ANU, ASHOK, CONRAD, GAELIKAA, GINGER, GRANNYMAR , HELEN, MAGPIE11, MARIA, (MARIANNA is on hiatus ) and RUMMUSER .

Inspiration-A sudden creative idea or act; one that moves the intellect or emotions or prompts action or invention

Inspiration, a sudden creative idea or one that moves the intellect..or prompts action. While a sudden creative idea usually comes from within, there are many times an outside stimulus triggers the idea, such as rain. I love to write on a rainy day. For some reason, the cloudy day, the sudden rush of water on the roof, or the gentle raindrops splashing against the window tends to wrap me in my own world. A world that usually revolves around the past or makes me feel that I'm alone, no pressures or stress, which frees my mind up for creating.

I read about studies that show stress and anxieties hamper creativity. I'm not a spontaneous acting person, so when someone wants to debate or argue with me, they will always win, because I need to be sure of my facts and know that it's the truth. Not so my brother and niece, ninety-nine percent of the time they verbalize all over me, then I find out they were, what's the word I'm looking for, lying or verbal bluffing otherwise known as BS. Usually, about midnight that night I wake up and think of all the responses I should and could have made. It makes me want to punch their phone number in and finally express my thoughts and opinion!

Music can be another outside stimulus for inspiration. Then there's people who can trigger an inspiration. My tenth grade English teacher was such a person, in addition to being an encourager. Many people have a mentor to inspire them, or if you're a poet, the love of someone can "inspire" words.

Certain books can be an inspiration, such as the Bible. The book of Ruth and Esther are an inspiration. I see how much they accomplished, even with the restrictions of their era, they were able to be used by God. So much was against them, yet they persevered and succeeded at their tasks.

How do you gain your inspiration? Have you at one time used music, books , rain or a person for inspiration?

TUESDAY MORNING WRITING-New Pictures For Tuesday 09/21/10

2010-09-15T22:28:00.001-05:00

It was during the depression....

Mom gave me this car on my sixteenth birthday..

He stood on the riverbank, looking at the snow and ice, debating

if he should swim across, then he heard the barking of the dogs.....

I want to try something different this week on Tuesday Morning Writing, in 100 words, write a story, a scene for each picture. Only 100 words can be used. for a beginning, middle and end. You can do it! I know you can!

Also, I've added a linky tool. When I do my story, on the right side of the page, I'll have a linky tool for you to add your link. I think this will be easier. You can see a preview of the linky tool by going to this past Tuesday's story Here. You will be able to add your link after midnight (12:01 AM) Central time on Tuesday morning, the 21st, and continue adding until 5:00 PM Central time Tuesday evening, the 21st.

Words & Images Copyright of Judy A. Harper 2009 Unless otherwise stated all images and words belong to me.

TUESDAY MORNING WRITING-No More Family

2010-09-13T22:46:00.003-05:00

The frozen branches, the falling snow and the lifeless swing, the

forgotten memories came flooding back....

Susan stood at the kitchen sink where she was washing dishes, staring out the window. It had been a somber lunch, making her wonder why she had invited them over. She was the only one who remembered what day it was, what had happened two years ago. The frozen branches, the falling show and the lifeless swing, the forgotten memories came flooding back.

It had been a similar day when there came a knock at the front door as the same group, sat around the dinning table. It had been debated about waiting for Sam, her husband, to arrive, but it was already one-thirty in the afternoon and a few were complaining about being hungry.

Sam's Aunt Margaret said, "There's no telling when he'll get here with the roads like they are".

Martin, Aunt Margaret's husband, chimed in, "And the weather could get worse and we'd have to go home hungry!"

She and Sam had been married five years, and Susan still couldn't get use to having his relatives over for Sunday lunch. She sometimes wished that they could occasionally eat alone on Sunday, without his mother, Lauren, her sister Margaret and brother-in-law Martin, plus their son Andy. When they were first married she had asked him about them coming every Sunday.

"Susan, Aunt Margaret took care of me while my mother worked, I was over at their house as much as mine, she's like my second mother, and wherever Margaret is, there's Martin. Andy, being like he is can't stay at home alone".

"But Sam, every Sunday"!

He just shrugged his shoulders and went back to reading the paper. After having the same discussion a few times, she just gave up.

Susan remembered getting up from the table to go answer the door. Standing on the porch, shoulders hunched over to protect themselves against the wind, stood two policemen; snow topped off their caps and lay scattered across their shoulders.

The taller one asked, "Mrs. Butler?"

Susan grabbed the door frame, as she felt her knee's feel like they were going to buckle, "Yes".

"May we come in"?

She stood aside and led them into the livingroom, remembering to switch on the light as she went to sit in the Queen Anne chair by the fireplace, facing the sofa. As they sat down she glanced over their shoulders at the people sitting at the table, they were watching and waiting.

The taller one said, "Mrs. Butler, I'm Detective Allison and this is Detective Sloan. We need to ask you a couple of questions. Do you or your husband own a red 2008 Malibu?

With her hands grasping the chair arms, Susan nodded. She thought, "What's happened, just get on with it!"

Detective Allison then said, "About ten-thirty this morning, at the corner of Main and Dupree Street, a red Malibu was involved in a crash. The three witnesses said they saw the car pull up to the traffic light and stop. As they continued on down the street, they heard the sound of metal hitting metal. Looking over their shoulders they saw the Malibu was under the body of the tractor trailer. As they stood there, it exploded, knocking them to the ground."

Susan began making a weening sound as she rocked back and forth, tears rolling down her face. She was so afraid she would start screaming and never stop. This couldn't be happening.

Detective Allison stood and turned to the people sitting at the table, "Would one of you try to help Mrs. Butler".

Sam's mother Lauren, came over, squatted in front of her, reaching for her hands, "Susan, look at me. Look at me".

Susan's eyes focused on her mother-in-law and she stopped rocking, though the tears continued to flow.

Lauren stood and wrapped her arms around her, hugging her as close as she could. As Susan's head rested against her mother-in-law, she thought, "Why isn't she upset by Sam's death?"

She glanced toward the dinningroom and thought, "Aunt Margaret, Martin and Andy are still sitting there eating. How can they eat after what's happened?"

Lauren handled all the funeral arrangements and the memorial service. Susan felt as if she were drifting in a fog. That time wasn't real and eventually she would wake up from the nightmare. But it was real, Sam was gone, for her anyway.

The first Sunday after Sam's funeral, she lay in bed staring out the window at the snow blanketed yard, watching the swing sway back and forth. As she lay there, she heard footsteps on the stairwell.

"Sam", she said, raising herself up so she could see the door. Only it was her mother-in-law. She lay back down on the bed and turned to stare outside.

Lauren, stood at the bedside, "You don't have lunch ready."

Susan continued to lay there, watching the swing, never acknowledging she had heard. Finally, her mother-in-law turned and left the room.

As Lauren headed downstairs, Susan heard her yell, "Get your coats back on, she's not going to fix us lunch."

That had been the last time she had seen Sam's family, until today. She didn't understand why she thought they would care. In the two years that had passed she never saw them come to his grave. Aunt Margaret did call the week after she hadn't had lunch ready; wanting to know if she was planning on cooking dinner the next Sunday. Susan had told her no. There hadn't been any more phone calls, nor any other contact.

Susan turned from the window, crossed to the livingroom and sat down before the fire. She sat there watching the flames, remembering Sam, and thought, "Well Sam, finally it's just you and me, no more family".

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Tuesday Morning Writings is a project sponsored by Judy Harper and gaelikaa. The words are copyright of Judy Harper. You can find Gaelikaa's story Here .
We have a new additions this week, Lisa's story is Here.

LBC-Coincidences

2010-09-10T07:00:00.001-05:00

ANU, ASHOK, CONRAD, GAELIKAA, GINGER, GRANNYMAR , HELEN, MAGPIE11, MARIA, (MARIANNA is on hiatus ) and RUMMUSER .

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COINCIDENCES
*********** A coincidence occurs when something uncanny, accidental and unexpected happens.

One definition of coincidence is the one I have listed above, " when something uncanny, accidental and unexpected happens". The topic for this Friday is Coincidences. As I thought of what to connect to this topic, I thought of this coming Saturday and the anniversary of 9/11. I remember watching people who normally worked in the Towers telling about missing their bus, or stopping to get a coffee where the line was extremely long which kept them from arriving at their job until after the terror attack, and so many more stories, it crossed my mind, are these uncanny and unexpected happenings a coincidence? One man was even standing on the sidewalk across from the building, I'm sure there were a lot of people there that just a split second prevented them from crossing over and going inside to ride the elevator to the top floors. The floors where people never made it back down, after the attack. Just a split second of time saved their lives. Which then raises the question without an answer, "Why them?"

People all over the world can share experiences that a split second of time saved their lives. There was such a coincidence, that I may have mentioned before, which happened to me. Alabama has many mountains; some have roads from the valley at their base to the their top. One day, thirty plus years ago, back when the Pinto was a popular car, I was driving up such a mountain. It was a three lane highway, it curved around and rose up and down, there were some points you couldn't see what was headed your way. Two lanes headed up, while only one lead down. We were in the middle lane headed up, my Aunt Jessie sat in the passenger seat, my sister was sitting behind me, while my two year old daughter stood on the seat behind my Aunt. It was summer, and since this was a time before all cars had air conditioning, the car windows were rolled down. The wind was blowing our hair around, we were talking and laughing, suddenly, if felt as though someone placed their hands over mine and gently guided the car into the outer lane. It stunned me a bit, because I hadn't thought of doing this, I remember glancing down to see whose hands were there, then realizing there couldn't be anyone there, just as quickly I glanced up to see a a tractor trailer top the hill in the middle lane, the wrong lane. If my car hadn't moved over, we would have hit head on, killing all of us in the car. Needless to say, I experienced a bit of shakiness and had a hard time grasping what had happened. Is this another instance of a coincidence? There again, the question of "Why" is raised. Over the years I have wondered which one of us needed to be saved. All of us are still alive except my sister.

I have heard people say they don't believe in coincidences. It isn't until today that I wonder if they don't believe coincidences happen or that the uncanny, accidental or unexpected happening was really planned by an unseen force; therefore it couldn't be a coincidence.

What about you, do you believe in coincidences?

Pictures for Tuesday Morning September 14th, 2010

2010-09-08T20:14:00.001-05:00

It happened right down there on the beach!

The bird came everyday, it just sat there

looking in.....

The frozen branches, the falling snow and the lifeless swing, the

forgotten memories came flooding back....

The rules are, just pick a picture and if you want, use the sentence with it or create your own story theme! Have it ready to post by 9:00 AM Indian time, gaelikaa's time. She's 10 and 1/2 hours ahead of Central and Eastern time. So that means posting at 10:30 pm Monday night Central time or 11:30 pm Eastern time. Just email me at Judy.Harper@gmail.com with your links or gaelikaa, I'll have to post her email later. We would love to have you come and join us!

Just a note, coming next week we will have a blog named for our Tuesday Morning. Hopefully this will be less confusing. It will be a group blog so that each week you only have one site to look for the pictures, but still have the joy of different sponsors. One week I will choose the pictures and comment, maybe have information posted about helpful links or how to overcome writer's block. The next week it will be gaelikaa's turn. And as others join and we become familiar with them, other authors will be added! I'm excited about this, so keep watching for the new blog!

TUESDAY MORNING WRITING-PICTURES FOR 09/07/10

2010-09-05T15:24:00.001-05:00

Here' the link for Tuesday Morning Writing on 09/07/10..Tuesday Morning Pictures

And remember, we would love to have your stories, just email or leave a comment with your link before 10:30 PM Central time on Monday, 09/06/10!

My Air Force Series

2010-09-04T09:31:00.000-05:00

1966

I'm doing a series on when I was serving in the Air Force. You might enjoy reading it, the links are Judy's In The Air Force Now!, Part 2, Part 3.

LBC-Bottles

2010-09-03T10:28:00.000-05:00

The Loose Bloggers Consortium, is an informal group of bloggers who post on a given topic each FridayOne topic is posted, then each member gives it their individual treatment. The current members are, in aphabetical order:

ANU, ASHOK, CONRAD, GAELIKAA, GINGER, GRANNYMAR , HELEN, MAGPIE11, MARIA, (MARIANNA is on hiatus ) and RUMMUSER .

David is a little under the weather this week, "Get Well Soon, David!"

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This week's subject is on "Bottles" , unfortunately, I don't have mine ready, but you will get a good read by checking out the other members. They can come up with great information and stories. So please give them a read! Hope to have join again on next weeks subject!

TUESDAY MORNING WRITING-August 31, 2010

2010-09-01T20:13:00.000-05:00

This has been some kind of week! Unfortunately, my post isn't finished, but Gaelikaa's is and you will get a good read at her website here. Sorry for the lateness of our posts. I do hope you enjoy her story. I will post mine next week. I understand we will be adding a new person to our group, Lisa from Lisa's Lovin Loaves.

I just checked out her post, if you like to make bread, you'll love this post. I'm going back over and see what other treasures she has on her site. Gaelikaa will be posting new pictures on Friday, so keep a watch at her site Write Away . And remember, we would love to have your stories, just email or leave a comment with your link before 10:30 PM Central time on Monday, 09/06/10!

TUESDAY MORNING WRITING-PICTURES FOR 08/31/10

2010-08-25T05:30:00.000-05:00

"I've never seen so many birds in one tree, look they're in that tree also. What's going on?"

I couldn't reach Rachel's picture lying in the feeder, what was it doing here? Oh, I hope Sneaky doesn't eat it!

Walking through the woods usually cleared her head, but not this morning. As she rounded the path, she glanced sideways and stopped. Taking a few steps to the left, she stared down at the mushrooms. Now she knew how they became sick, she just didn't understand why.

Here are the pictures for next weeks Tuesday Morning Writing. I hope they will present some good ideas. Hey, if you can think of another sentence to go with the picture, just leave it in the comment with the picture #. The birds are picture # 1, Sneaky goat # 2 and mushrooms # 3.

Gaelikaa and I would love to have company next week!

TUESDAY MORNING WRITING-A Spy is a Spy, Any Day Of The Week!

2010-08-24T12:12:00.003-05:00

As they enjoyed an afternoon in the sun, they were unaware of what was about to transpire......

(Picture taken by Megan Lopes of South Carolina)

Bettye and Frances worked in the Foreign Affairs building just up the street. Everyday during their lunch break, unless it was raining, they came to the park to eat and enjoy the weather and scenery, just like today. As they enjoyed an afternoon in the sun, they were unaware of what was about to transpire.

Bettye and Frances had briefly noticed when the woman in the sage colored pantsuit sat down. But Bettye was in the middle of telling Frances about the latest escapade of her niece, her brother's youngest daughter.

"Frances, would you believe, she went and dyed her hair red and black! It reminds me of Woody the woodpecker! They both got a giggle from that.

"Excuse me," the woman in the sage pantsuit said,"I seem to have left my watch back at the hotel, could you tell me the time?"

Bettye glanced down at her watch, " It's 12:45, oh dear, Frances, we only have ten more minutes before we head back to work. How's your dear old mom?"

Before Frances could reply, there was a loud bang from under the enclosed breezeway leading down to the small lake. Both she and Bettye jumped.

"What was that?, Bettye asked, as both she and Frances grabbed their empty sandwich bags and headed toward the sound. Neither paid attention to the woman still sitting on the bench. Since neither woman looked back, they didn't notice the dark haired man dressed in brown come up behind her, making a jab at her back; or see him reach into the woman's purse and pull out the digital camera and walk away.

To Bettye and Frances, it had been just another lunch break, not about sitting next to a spy who was killed by a spy. But you know the old saying, "A spy is a spy any day of the week".

Tuesday Morning Writings is a project sponsored by Judy Harper and gaelikaa. The words are copyright of Judy Harper. You can find Gaelikaa's story Here

What Is The Goal of a Writing Critique Group?

2010-08-23T19:26:00.000-05:00

Geraldine, Alabama

Why do you belong to a writing group? Is it for practice, to receive input on what might be needed to improve your story or to have others, no matter what they really think, praise what you've written?

I just read an excellent article over at Mysterious Matters: Mystery Publishing Demystified, titled "For Those Who Would Critique". It has some good points, it's worth the read! The first point made is "Make sure the group has a clearly stated goal."

Do you belong to a critique group? Are they more beneficial on line or meeting as group in person? Do you have a group that is open for more people to join?

I think that at some point, it's necessary to write to be published and reach for that goal. While it's necessary to practice at writing, at some point, the decision has to be made to choose a story, improve on it, critique it and then send it off. What are your thoughts on this subject?

TUESDAY MORNING WRITING-Pictures for 08/24/2010

2010-08-20T12:24:00.000-05:00

Here's the link for next Tuesday Morning writing project, if you choose the first picture, please give credit for the picture to Ms. Megan Lopes, gaelikaa's cousin.

Picture link Pictures for writing about!

ARE YOU GOOD AT WHAT YOU WRITE OR DO YOU JUST WRITE AND WANT TO BE GOOD?

2010-08-18T22:39:00.000-05:00

I like to write mysteries, I like to read them as well. But am I good at it? The subject came up this week when gaelikaa and I were talking about the stories we posted. I love her human interest stories. She can take an every day situation and make it interesting. Such as Don't Look Back and The Perfectionist . This week though, she did a really good job with an honest to goodness mystery. I found that I would like more of the story, The Same House.

Now me, I usually like a murder mystery, but I tried something different with A Castle's Secret and A Summer Tragedy and Heros . It would be nice to hear comments on a written story as to "hey, you need to stick to this or you need to write about that or even, you don't have the writing talent and should stick to accounting!

What do you think? Do you write because you have the talent for that type of book or because it's what you want to be good at and maybe should consider another area?

Pictures for Tuesday Morning August 17th, 2010

2010-08-12T20:07:00.000-05:00

Here are the pictures to write a story about on Tuesday Morning, the 17th. Hope you find a good story in there!

The house was a mansion, a place most people would love to own. Looking from the outside it looked like a lap of luxury home. Just goes to show, looks can give the wrong impression. What happens on the inside is what matters.

The house stood there in it's unfriendly manner, empty and foreboding with the moonlight leaving an eerie glow on the stone walls. The driveway looking like glass from an earlier rain fall.

I painted this picture of the lighthouse from my visit two years ago. I wanted something to remind me of my summer on the island.

TUESDAY MORNING-If Only I Could Remember, contd.....

2010-08-09T22:31:00.002-05:00

The first part of this story can be found Here!

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"I wonder if this has anything to do with the client?" Karen began to rub her forehead, which was pounding.

Francine closed the bottle of antiseptic, "Karen, I'm taking you to the hospital and I'm not taking no for an answer. You're white as a sheet, you're trembling and the cuts need more care than I can give. So, grab your purse and lets go."

Karen allowed herself to be led to Francine's car. She did feel awful and she couldn't think. If only she could remember something. She had her head against the window when she realized this was the path she followed last night. Suddenly she realized she was seeing objects flash by, but she was the driver, this didn't make sense and there wasn't anyone else in the car with her. She turned to Francine, but at that moment they were turning onto the drive to the Emergency Room and Karen lost the image.

It had taken them three hours to process through the ER, with x-rays, filling out forms and befing questioned by the police. She still didn't know why they had to call the police in. After all the only thing she could supply was her name, address and the statement, "I don't remember!"

Karen lay between the cool sheets wanting to go to sleep and also wishing they would bring her some pain medicine. Unfortunately, they didn't want to give her anything until they had looked at all the x-rays and tests. The doctor was concerned that she might have a concussion. Finally she drifted off to sleep.

She was dreaming and knew it but she couldn't wake herself up, it was as though she was watching a movie, she had her purse on her shoulder walking down the steps to her car. Unlocking the car trunk, Karen reached in and picked up the box holding her clients files. She turned and headed back to her apartment; just as she started up the steps, a shadow stepped away from the wall and raced down to her, his arm drawn back. He hit her in the face causing her to stumble back, she spent the next few seconds trying not to fall as she continued holding onto the box of files. She twisted around sending the box behind the stairwell and falling on her purse, the shadow grabbed for her purse, but couldn't pull it free. She thought she heard a door open and a voice, cursing the shadow turned and raced off. Karen jerked herself awake as she sat up in the hospital bed, she was shaking but at the same time thinking, "It was a robbery gone bad, that's all it was, a robbery gone bad!"

She lay back with a sense of relief , thinking about her dream. Okay, it was a robbery gone bad, but how did she end up in her car in the Food Giants parking lot and what happened to the box of files? Then she remembered the final moments, a door opening and the voice. Petrified that the shadow would return, Karen had jumped up and grabbed the box, running to her trunk she threw the box in and then gotten into her car. She didn't know how serious her injuries were, so she decided to drive herself to the hospital. Once she reached Center Point Parkway, she became disoriented, Karen couldn't remember if she needed to turn left or right, so she turned left. After driving a piece, dizziness, nausea and a feeling of light-headiness overcame her. Afraid she might pass out, she pulled into Food Giants parking lot and passed out. The force of the shadow hitting her must have caused a concussion and amnesia.

Karen turned to get out of bed just as Francine and the doctor walked into the room, "Francine, it was a robbery gone bad. I remember what happened, that's all it was, just a robbery gone bad. I was so afraid it had to do with the case I'm working on, but it didn't."

Francine came over and gave her a hug, "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. Doctor, can I go home now?"

"I would like to keep you over night. You do have a concussion and your face is going to swell. Is there any reason why you can't stay here at the hospital?"

"No, I guess not, and now that I know what happened, I should be able to rest. It is such a relief to finally know."

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Tuesday Morning Writings is a project sponsored by Gaelikaa and Judy Harper. The words are copyright of Judy Harper. Gaelikaa's story can be found Here

TUESDAY MORNING WRITING FOR AUGUST 10TH, 2010

2010-08-08T05:30:00.001-05:00

Gaelikaa and I discussed about next weeks pictures. I'm doing a second part and she wants to use on of the other pictures for a story, so we're leaving the same pictures up for the August 10th Tuesday Morning Writing. So go to Gaelikaa's site for the pictures Here! And if you want to read our stories from last week, you can find mine here and Gaelikaa's here

Gaelikaa also brought up another thought, that we need to write as much as possible. She belongs to several online writing groups. I think this is good, but when do you have time to write that book or article to send in to be published? What are some thoughts on this subject?

Remember, if you want to be part of the group, just email me your link before 9:00 pm Monday evening. We post by Indian time as they're 10 hours and 30 minutes ahead of Central time, so if you live in a Central time zone you would schedule the publish for 10:30 pm Monday night, this would post at 9:00 am Tuesday Morning in India.

TUESDAY MORNING WRITING-If Only I Could Remember!

2010-08-02T21:30:00.002-05:00

Karen stood at the bottom of the staircase, filled with dread. Why was she so afraid to climb the steps, what was she afraid of finding once she reached the top?

Karen sat in her car staring at the apartment building, wondering if she lived here, not sure where she had been and how long she'd been gone. All she could remember was when she woke up this morning behind the steering wheel of a car, parked in Food Giant's parking lot located on Center Point Highway. She saw a purse lying on the passenger seat, reaching for it, she had looked inside and found a billfold. There she found a drivers license issued in the name of Karen McIntosh, with her picture. So she was assuming she was Karen McIntosh. The address on the license was apartment 215, Heather Pointe Road. As she sat there looking at the building, she wondered where they had gotten the name from. Her head ached, her face was bloody and it looked as though she could use a few stitches to repair her chin. But first, she needed to know who she was and what had happened.

She had been sitting in the parking space for five minutes, building up her courage to get out and climb up the stairs to apartment 215. She still marveled that once she saw the address, she knew the way without asking directions. How could that be? Maybe that was a good sign, that and her waking up. How could she have forgotten everything before this morning?

Karen was startled by a tap on her window, turning she saw a blond headed woman, looking intently at her, "Karen, you alright?", she asked.

Karen pushed the button to lower the window, "No, I'm not, do you know me?

The woman looked at her, "Yes, what's happened, I've been concerned because when I came out this morning, your apartment door stood wide open. I knocked and called, I even went inside to see if you were okay, but I didn't find you. Nothing seemed to be disturbed so I closed the door and went on into work. I thought maybe you just hadn't fully closed the door."

She ducked and looked more intently at her, "Good heavens, Karen, what happened to your face? You need to go to the hospital!"

Karen shook her head, "Not yet. Who are you and how do you know me."

Straightening up, "I'm Francine, your next door neighbor. We've been neighbors since you moved in six years ago. Come on, I'll help you inside and we'll try to figure this out."

Karen turned off the motor and got out of the car. She slowly walked toward the stairs, pausing at the bottom step, she waited until Francine had climbed to the top before she followed. It was still daylight so the hallway at the top didn't seem as threatening as when she was sitting alone in the car.

Meeting Francine at the top, they both turned right to head down the hallway to their apartments. Hers came first, as she paused in front of the door, Karen realized that whatever happened somewhere besides her apartment. She unlocked the door and they both went inside.

Francine lead her to the kitchen table, "You sit down before you pass out. I'm going to get a wash cloth and water to wash off your face. Then I'll be able to determine the damage."

Karen asked, "Would you bring me some Ibuprofen for my headache and the soreness." She sat there waiting.

In a few minutes Francine reappeared with her hands full of towels, washcloths and a first aid kit. Placing everything on the table, she reached into one of the cabinets for a bowl, which she filled with warm water. Taking the wet wash cloth, she began trying to wash off the blood.

"What happened to you Karen?"

"I don't know." Karen then told her about waking up in her car, finding her purse on the car seat and driving here, "That's all I remember."

Francine turned her face so she could place antiseptic on the cuts, "Well it happened after five p.m. yesterday. That's the time we arrived home and walked in together. You said something about having to go back later to your car for work you had brought home to do."

"Do you know where I work and what I do? Ouch," she yelped as Francine placed a butterfly bandaid across the cut on her forehead.

"Yes, you are an accountant working for Peters, Landry and Stone, an accounting firm here in Birmingham. Actually, one of your clients is involved in a messy trial, I think that was what you were going to work last night."

******to be continued*******

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Tuesday Morning Writings is a project sponsored by Gaelikaa and Judy Harper. The words are copyright of Judy Harper. Gaelikaa's story can be found here .

TUESDAY MORNING WRITING-New Pictures

2010-07-31T09:54:00.001-05:00

Gaelikaa will be coming up with the pictures for this coming Tuesday's Writing, she will post them Here!

TUESDAY MORNING WRITING-Prom Night and Cars

2010-07-26T21:00:00.001-05:00

As I was sorting through the old pictures, I came across the one of my Senior prom. So many years and so much has happened. Yet, the excitement of graduation and new beginnings was dimmed by what happened that night.....

It's hard to believe that Dick and I have reached the age of retirement. Where did the time go? We've decided to sell the house that we bought two years after we were married. We've lived here since 1968, raised our children and grew up ourselves. Now I'm down to boxes that have been stored in the attic and I can't remember the last time I was up here. As I was sorting through the old pictures, I came across the one of my Senior prom. So many years and so much has happened. I rubbed my fingers across the creased picture, remembering why I had stored this picture in the attic, rather than in the photo album. As I travel back to that night, the dresses, my classmates, we were full of excitement because the time was drawing near for us to graduate. Yet the excitement of graduation and new beginnings was dimmed by what happened that night.

It was a May night in 1966. We were going through financial hardships so my mom took a dress she had worn in someone's wedding and made it into a evening grown for me to wear. I thought the bodice of white lace over pink taffeta was beautiful. I loved how the skirt of the same taffeta flowed to the top of my feet. It was amazing how my mom could sew. I felt like a princess when I pulled the gown over my head and stood in front of a mirror. She went out and bought me a pair of silver heels, the ones with a small heel that was popular at that time. And of course, the outfit wasn't complete without the elbow length gloves. I loved the outfit, even though I only wore it that one time.

I remember being so excited about going to the prom, Jackie, a boy I had a crush on and never thought he would notice me, had asked me to go with him. I can still see him, he had that rebel look. The dark hair, leather jacket with only a tee shirt underneath and of course he wore biker boots. I spent hours on my hair and makeup in anticipation of the date. Finally six o'clock arrived and I heard his car pull up, one couldn't help hearing his modified fifty-seven red and white Chevrolet. It was such a cool car. When the car sat idling, the sound was a deep throated beat, like muffled drums, that reached into your soul, the drum beat vibrating the car slightly as it sat there. My dad opened the door and invited him in and were we all surprised. He had on a black suit with a white shirt and even had on dress shoes, plus he stood there with a white and red rose corsage for me; I thought it the most beautiful corsage ever. Before we left my mom pinned it on my dress and gave me a hug and whispered in my ear, "Have a great time, girl-girl". It was a dream come true as he opened the car door for me and saw me safely into the Chevy. At first, we were quiet, looking out of the corner of our eyes at each other, but by the time we arrived at the school we were beginning to become comfortable, carrying on snippets of conversation. After all, we really had never talked except in the school hallway. I was seventeen and he was eighteen, both of us would be graduating from high school in June. Then in the fall, both of us would be going to Auburn University, me to enter the premed program and he was going on a football scholarship. I felt weak kneed and in heaven.

Once inside he left to go get us something to drink, as dinner wouldn't be served until seven. I turned and searched for my best friends Martha and Linda, who both were hurrying over, anxious to hear what had transpired on our drive over, plus I'm sure they wanted to comment on his suit and how he looked, so totally different from his usual wardrobe. As we stood there talking, we watched him walk over to Roger and Danial, Linda's and Martha's dates. At the time I thought it was boy talk about us and the prom.

Jackie, Roger and Danial brought us our drinks and then informed us they were just going out to the parking lot for a minute. We assumed it was to smoke a cigarette. While they were out, they opened the dinningroom, so me and the girls went in to find us a place to sit. After about twenty minutes the guys returned, but we had already started eating. Even so, we were able to enjoy the rest of the meal, joking and laughing with each other. Sitting there contented at being who we were and where we were going, excited about starting our life's journey and how we were going to save the world.

As it neared eight, we could hear the dance band gearing up for the night. We sat there a few minutes tapping our toes and finishing up the conversations. Finally, someone suggested we go into the auditorium to dance, we all jumped up swaying and laughing. It was great being young and enjoying the night of fast songs and of course slow waltzes. One thing I can say about Jackie, he held me close and didn't step on my toes. My head fit perfectly on his shoulder and I could smell his Aqua Velva. After about thirty minutes of dancing, we broke for a girl break, while they, supposedly went outside for another smoke break. When Martha, Linda and I returned, we discovered they had set up to take pictures. Martha, Linda and I stood around waiting for the boys to return, looking toward the doors every time they swung open, until finally we decided to go ahead and have one of ourselves and then later on have one taken of us as a couple.

After the picture taking, we stood around not sure what to do, wondering where the guys were, after all, it was nine o'clock. Suddenly, the auditorium doors banged open and several guys, girls and a few couples rushed in looking excited and frantic. Some gave us a furtive glance, as though they were talking about us. One of the teachers, Miss Blansit, broke away from the group and came over to us.

"Ann, would you, Martha and Linda come with me into the dinningroom?"

I felt a certain dread in the pit of my stomach, I knew something was terribly wrong. "What is it, Miss Blansit?"

"There seems to have been an accident. Some of the boys got up a chicken race with their cars. Two of the cars crashed killing the drivers and their passengers. Jackie was the driver of one of the cars, he had Roger as a passenger. They both died, instantaneously."

My legs gave way and thankfully there was a chair to catch me. It was as though all the air had been sucked out of the atmosphere. The room noise started out as a roar, but died down to silence. I could see Miss Blansit talking, but I couldn't hear what she was saying. Linda, who was Roger's date, had fainted, as they had been sweethearts since the seventh grade. I saw Miss Blansit motion for help and then she turned to me and placed my head in my lap. Just as suddenly as the silence appeared, the roar of the room came back, people hurrying to help and shouting instructions as what to do.

They called our parents to pick us up and take us home. It was like my world had ended before it even started. Why do girls and boys do such stupid things when they are in the process of graduating. What was the point of racing their cars and each other waiting to the last minute to turn and miss the other car. Except in this instance, they both turned the same way. So pointless, four promising lives ended so close to their beginning.

The summer passed slowly until it came nearer to head off to college. The excitement of graduation was dimmed by Jackie's death. He had such a promising future. Linda and I both consoled each other as we prepared to go off to our respective college, me to Auburn and she to Alabama. I had forgotten about paying for the prom picture until it arrived in the mail in late July. My one regret was that I didn't have a picture of us as a couple. I only have a memory of him handsomely dressed out for the night. I wish he had stayed around for a picture at least.

Thoughtfully, I replaced the picture in it's box, closing the lid, it went into the stack of boxes of pictures my daughter wanted if I decided to throw them away. She has chosen to be the family historian. Maybe I needed to share the story of that night with her. Oh well, I wonder if it really mattered now.

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Tuesday Morning Writings is a project sponsored by Gaelikaa and Judy Harper. The words are copyright of Judy Harper. Gaelikaa's story can be found here .

TUESDAY MORNING WRITING-REMEMBER HOW?

2010-07-24T10:04:00.001-05:00

It's been some time since we posted on Tuesday Morning. What we did in the past is to let each person know the link of the story and then all post at once. I realize that we all come from different time zones and posting is a major issue. Gaelikaa is from India, about 12 hours ahead of Alabama, what we had done was post by Alabama time, which made it late in India, so I think we should try something different, lets post by India time. If it's 9:00 am in India, it would be about 9:00 pm in Alabama (Central time). So that way, people in Eastern, Central, Mountain and Pacific can send their links to me to add to my post and I can send mine to others, that way all post will show up at the same time. If there are any questions, let me know. I'm adding a copy of the links used by frequent contributors from last posts so you can have the blog sites on hand if for some reason you need to post these sites rather than the story link.

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Tuesday Morning Writings is a project sponsored by Gaelikaa and Judy Harper. The words are copyright of Judy Harper. Gaelikaa's story can be found Here . We have MelRoXx back, her story will be found here . Sheeza, she has a good story Here

2010-07-19T05:30:00.001-05:00

Why would Amy Bishop, a college professor, go on a shooting spree? It's......

Coleen sat at the patio table, enjoying the peaceful sound of the waterfall, thinking about the event of the past week, wondering what she would or could have done differently. Would it have mattered?

WRITER'S BLOCK OR I JUST NEED TO GET OVER IT!

2010-07-18T09:08:00.000-05:00

Have you ever just wanted to stop writing? I really haven't set down and written anything for my blogs, or anything else, since March. It's just like I woke up one morning and the very thought of writing made me nauseated. Which is strange as I love to write and need to write, or at least write down my thoughts and matters I'm dealing with, be it a journal or blog. Hindsight is always better than foresight. I know I had a lot on my plate, but rather than writing about it, I held it in and let it "fester". I couldn't believe anyone would want to read about the negative events taking place in my life. It would be so depressing, even to me!

So, all I know to do is just sit down and begin, because I realize I've missed the day to day blogging and writing. The keeping up with people and what's been happening.

I'm going to start the Tuesday Morning Writing, tomorrow I will post pictures for anyone to join me in the writing a story around them, then we will post. Since it's only two days till this Tuesday, they will be for Tuesday, July 27th. I hope a few of you will choose to join in.

LBC-If I could Travel In Time, I would.......

2010-03-05T07:00:00.002-06:00

ANU, ASHOK, CONRAD, GAELIKAA, GINGER, GRANNYMAR , HELEN, MAGPIE11, MARIA, (MARIANNA is on hiatus ) and RUMMUSER .

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There are some people who might feel that if they could travel in time they would go back to a time where they could "fix" the world. Even take the formula of medicines to the past to prevent polio or other diseases. Just imagine, though, the paths of the people who are here because of certain events. So many lives would be changed and not all for the betterment. If the past is changed, it would have drastic affects on the future and the present. By saving one person, you could eliminate others.

No if I could travel in time I would go back to when my grandparents, dad, aunts and uncles were alive. Because the first thing I would do is sit down and ask questions like, were did our great, great grandparents come to America from? Why was great-great grandpa called Mac? His name was Leroy M., so why was he call Mac? Was it his brogue, as one cousin stated? Another big question would be to my mother's great grandfather. Why were you murdered by a relative? I know he was tried and supposedly hung, but why the killing in the first place? What did he do that made you angry enough to react and place you in his path to be murdered? I would also love to read the court records to get a first hand view of what transpired.

I would spend time getting to really know them. Do you know what your parents wanted to be as an adult? Did they accomplish their dream, or was their vocation due to what they had to work at to earn a living?

I think I would travel to a time and place to meet the singer, Peggy Lee. I would love to ask her how she dealt with her ups and downs. I would ask if "Is That All There Is", a mirror of her own life, even though she didn't originally write the song.

Of course, if I could travel in time, I think I would do it in something rather than a telephone box like Dr. Who!

TUESDAY MORNING WRITING-It's Too Beautiful For Murder! Part 5

2010-03-02T06:00:00.002-06:00

To read the previous parts of this story go Here!

Ally sat by the pool drinking her morning coffee, thinking about the odd conversation she and Isabella had last night after they had arrived at the villa from the airport. The last name of the great uncle who had left his estate to her was Mungai, the same as Isabella, she'd asked Isabella about that. Her response had simply been yes, she was also related to Ally's uncle. Isabella, then asked if there was anything else she needed before she left for home. Ally couldn't think of anything, so she left.

Maybe it was late and Isabella had been tired, but since she was to be the chauffeur, Ally felt that she resented her. Maybe there could be some clarification about the relationship of her uncle and clear the air between them. Yet, Ally couldn't help but wonder why the estate hadn't been left to Isabella. She sat there a few more minutes enjoying her coffee and the scenery. Even though it had been late when she finally was able to go to sleep, the minute the sun shone through her window and she heard the first song of the day from the birds, Ally awakened. She smelled coffee brewing. Climbing out of bed, she came downstairs and wondered through the house until she came to the kitchen. Even though there was coffee, she didn't see anyone about. Maybe whoever had made the coffee had set it up last night to automatically brew this morning. Just then she heard someone singing in the kitchen. Whomever it was had a lovely voice.

Ally walked into the kitchen to see a woman pouring herself a cup of coffee. "Hello", she asked, "Do you speak English?"

Turning the woman responded, "Yes. How are you this morning? I hope you were able to rest. I see you found the coffee."

"Yes, thank you so much. You brew a great cup of coffee!"

Ally watched the woman go over to the kitchen table. She was in her fifties, and her movements were that of an athletic person. Once she had sat down, Ally joined her, "Did Marco arrange with you to come in and help? He didn't send any names, just that he had assembled a staff to help out while I was here."

"Yes, my name is Lydia Mungai. I think you met my daughter last night, Isabella?"

Ally shook her head, "Yes, she drove me from the airport. I'm confused, how are y'all related to Uncle Aldo?"

Lydia continued to stir her coffee before she answered, "My father is your mother's brother. Uncle Aldo is his uncle. You and Isabella are cousins."

Ally was stunned, "Why didn't I know about y'all? Why did my mother keep y'all a secret?"

"Did your mother never tell you about your grandparents or her brothers?"

Ally shook her head, "Never."

Lydia stood up and walked to the stove, "What would you like for breakfast, eggs and fruit?"

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To be continued.....next week will be the final installment for this story.

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Tuesday Morning Writings is a project sponsored by Gaelikaa and Judy Harper. The words are copyright of Judy Harper. Gaelikaa's story can be found here. MelRoXx will be back soon, you can read some of her stories here . You can read some of Sheeza's Here

TUESDAY MORNING WRITING-It's Too Beautiful For Murder! Part 4

2010-02-23T06:00:00.001-06:00

Casale Four Villa ****

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****The above photos are from

renttuscany.com/property_details.aspx

It's Tuesday Morning. I want to extend an invitation to anyone who would like to join me for Tuesday Morning Writing. Just use my pictures and write a story. Send me your link and I'll link you to my story so others can read it. Then you can do the same with mine.

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I have Ally on a plane to Florence, Itlay, now how do I get her off? Do I introduce the mystery at once or wait a bit? There are several ways to do this..(1) The person picking her up at the airport could actually be a relative trying to cash in on the estate. (2) Will the person be a woman or man? Is the person greedy or open to being a friend? Why would there be a murder? Who could be murdered? A member of the staff or a friend of the family? Did you like my Italian names? I googled Italian names and picked out the ones I liked. To read the previous writing of this story go Here.

Ally had been asleep for two hours when the flight attendant awakened her to let her know that the plane would be descending for landing. She needed to push her seat upright and prepare to disembark. Ally raised her seat, then pulled the blanket back over her arms, thinking about what to do once she landed in Florence. There wasn't an airport at Figline Valdarno. Marco Tizzoni, the attorney who had been in contact with her, wrote in her instructions to ask the airport personnel to point her in the direction of the terminal. Her chauffeur would be there waiting for her. He would then take her ticket and pick up her luggage as the Florence airport was very confusing. It would be quicker and easier for someone familiar with the procedure and airport to handle everything. She was glad to have this done for her. She was tired. She had left Birmingham, Alabama at four o'clock Monday evening to fly to Atlanta to catch the oversea's flight. It would be almost six o'clock Tuesday evening when her plane landed in Florence. She reminded herself to send a thank you note to Marco. She was so grateful to him for arranging the car and driver. Trying to pick up a car, get directions and drive the approximately twenty miles to Figline Valdarno just seemed overwhelming now. If it had been left up to her, she would have stayed in Florence for the night and then driven out on Wednesday.

Ally walked out into the terminal. Looking out the windows, she saw that the sunlight was already fading into evening. She looked around and met the gaze of a young woman dressed in a chauffeur's uniform. The woman was holding a sign with her name written in large letters. Approaching her, Ally stated that she was Ally Lombardi and then asked, "Do you speak English"? The young woman nodded and introduced herself as Isabella Mungai, then asked for her ticket. As Ally handed her the ticket, she wondered about Isabella having the same last name as her great uncle. Isabella then told her to go on out to the car. She would be more comfortable there.

It only took fifteen minutes to pick up the luggage and load it into the car. Once they were on the road, Ally leaned back into the seat then promptly fell asleep.

To be continued.....

LBC-Fifteen Minutes Of Fame

2010-02-19T07:00:00.002-06:00

ANU, ASHOK, CONRAD, GAELIKAA, GINGER, GRANNYMAR , HELEN, MAGPIE11, MARIA, (MARIANNA is on hiatus ) and RUMMUSER .

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I'm not sure what is meant by fifteen minutes of fame. Does it mean that you're on television to discuss animals and rabies? Or that you have attention focused on you for a crime or that your Colonel informs you that your husband isn't coming home because he was an undercover agent for the CID? Does fifteen minutes of fame have to be recognized by the whole world or just a few?

One of the events in my life that was important to me and observed by my senior classmates, their families, by our friends and other students was the fact I was elected as the Class poet for the graduating high school class of 1966.

Here is the poem I wrote to the class of 1966 and is forever listed in the SYLVANIAN yearbook.

CLASS POEM

by Judy A. Harper

Twelve long years have gone by;

It's time now to say good-bye.

No longer will we be a part of the

Group as we now are.

When we meet our friends again,

A casual "hello" will be said.

No more coming to school as before,

We will be leaving home to find our destiny.

What will it be?

Who will be the doctor, lawyer, merchant chief,

Rich man, poor man, or thief?

No one can say.

To do or not to do will be the question,

For Father Time will be our date.

For some, graduation will be neither

The end of happiness

Nor the beginning of sorrow;

But the beginning of living.

With a world of adventure

For exploring and conquering.

Oh, I remember how nervous I was, knowing I would get up in front of all those people to read what I had written. Would I stutter, or stumble? What if I forgot the lines? Now I look back and think, "all that concern over a poem." All that time coming up with words to describe my class and our future. It seems silly now. But that was my first hurdle into adulthood. First step into being an individual.

TUESDAY MORNING WRITING-It's Too Beautiful For Murder! Part 3

2010-02-17T05:00:00.009-06:00

Casale Four Villa

Ally Lombardi leaned her head back against the headrest, closing her eyes and listening to the hum of the airplane. She was so tired. The rushing to close her apartment for three months, making sure everything was taken care of. Writing down the instructions for Henry, the apartment building manager. Being reassured by him that he would bring her mail in daily, that no one would be allowed into her apartment. She really wasn't concerned about Henry. She knew he was dependable. He had been there for fifteen years.

Ally must have dozed off, because the next thing she knew, the flight attendant was asking her if she wanted something to drink. She opted for a club soda. Glancing at her watch, she realized that dinner would soon be served. As she sipped on the drink, Ally went over in her mind the letter she had received from her late great uncle's lawyers. A great uncle she didn't even know she had. Why hadn't her mother told her about him? For what reason was he kept as a secret. The lawyers wanted her to come to Florence to go over the will of her uncle. It seems he had left her all of his estate. She was curious to know if she was his only living relative, or would there be others.

The property left to her was called the Casale Four Villa. The letter from the law firm stated it was located in the hills south of Florence, next to the village of Figline Valdarno. She would be staying there during her three months stay. She had talked with one of the lawyers handling her uncle's affairs, a Marco Tizzoni. He assured her that the property was in perfect order and she would enjoy her stay. During her time in Italy, she could relax, sign any papers that was needed and decide what to do with the property. He wouldn't discuss over the phone the financial aspect of the estate. Marco Tizzoni had sent her keys to the house and set up a staff for her stay, as well as arranging for someone to pick her up at the airport and deliver her, along with her luggage to the villa.

Just then she heard the clink of the dishes as the flight attendants began passing out dinner. Pushing her seat up, Ally realized how hungry she felt. Which was normal as she realized she hadn't eaten anything in eight hours. Being in first class, the food consisted of Branzino (sea bass) Carpaccio with arugula, Parmesan and tartufgo bianco (white truffles). The desert is Panna Cotta with raspberries with coffee. After finishing her meal, she prepared herself for a three hour sleep, hoping she would be able to relax and rest, because she knew that once she arrived in Florence and until she finally arrived at Casale Four and settled in, she would be unable too. With that thought, she reached up and turned off the overhead light, positioned the air to blow over her head, let the back of her seat down, pulled the blanket around her and fell asleep.

To be continued....

TUESDAY MORNING WRITING-It's Too Beautiful For Murder!, Part 2

2010-02-16T07:47:00.001-06:00

The brochure of the fishing village of Burano, Italy looked so inviting...

I have been doing research as to where would be the best place to stay while in Italy. I've narrowed it down to two places, Gaiole in Chianti and Figline Valdaro. Both are in Tuscany and near Florence.

I think I'm going to stay at the Casale Four Villa (not a real name, I created this villa.). It's located in the hills south of Florence, next to the village of Figline Valdarno. The villa is built in stone, and is divided on two levels.There are two bedrooms, one has a double bed and the other a twin bed. There are three bathrooms, two with a tub and one with only a shower. It has a park and swimming pool.

Why am I here? I think I'm going back to my character to see why I'm here.

To see the first paragraph of the story go HERE .

To be continued..........

TUESDAY MORNING WRITING-It's Too Beautiful For Murder!

2010-02-09T08:00:00.000-06:00

The brochure of of the fishing village of Burano, Italy looked so inviting..

Tomorrow is Tuesday Morning Writing, so I've chosen the above photo to write a story about. But what kind of story. My title suggests a murder mystery, but a love plot could also be written. A woman going on her first overseas vacation, chooses to go to Burano and meets a handsome rugged looking man. Or even a story told of a village girl who lives there, helping her father on a fishing boat. What kind of life she lives, a secret crush of a village boy. Even a story of a widow who becomes the grandmother of the village.

Sunday I posted about Elizabeth's list from Mystery Writing is Murder. If I use her guidelines, I think I can file the above characters under "Ideas for upcoming characters", or even "Character descriptions", and even "setting descriptions". This is where I run into problems, choices! I guess it comes down to my own breakdown of how I would file, associate and remember.

I love mysteries, so I think I'm going to go with the location being in Burano, Italy. A woman travels there for a vacation, or a month of rest, rest from what? What kind of work does she do? Since Burano isn't really a tourist village, and people usually travel there mostly for day trips, where will she stay?

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A DIFFERENT FOCUS

2010-02-07T16:35:00.000-06:00

Up, Up to touch the face of God..

Among the clouds

As I stated in my January 17th post, I have decided to take up the writing gauntlet. I'm going to focus on putting together my writings and try to have them or something published this year. One of the first projects is to print off the stories I've written, at my daughters suggestion, to see if I can intertwine them into a story or if I can take one story and expand into a book, etc.

My next step is to read the many wonderful writing blogs that offer support and information on such subjects as getting published or many other topics. One thing I learned from Elizabeth Spann Craig, over at Mystery Writing Is Murder, this week is about when you're not inspired to write is to make a list. Actually, it's more than a list, it's a list with pages. Such as Characters, Ideas for upcoming characters, Food ideas, that's right, have you ever really given thought to a meal your character is about to sit down to or a party to meet other characters in the book? Do you want it to be Southern, or fast food? BBQ or sophisticated? How about Character and setting descriptions? Short sniping snippet (not sure what this one is) or clues and red herrings even subplots. One thing I'm learning, writing, while it can be fun, is a lot of work.

So I'm off to do another list item, research, which is narrowing down what story to expand or just start from scratch.

LBC-The Perfect Life

2010-01-29T09:00:00.000-06:00

ANU, (ASHOK is on hiatus), , CONRAD, GAELIKAA, GINGER, GRANNYMAR , (HELEN, is on hiatus), MAGPIE11, MARIA, (MARIANNA is on hiatus ) and RUMMUSER .

This weeks topic is "The Perfect Life"

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As a youth, the favorite television programs of the time were sitcom's such as "Father Knows Best", "Leave It To Beaver", "The Donna Reed Show", "Bonanza", and of course "The Andy Griffith Show." I enjoyed watching these shows. I don't remember ever thinking I wish I could be in those families, basically, they showed how most families lived. Oh, I don't mean everyone had the houses or all moms wore high heels to do the housework, (actually, I didn't know of any mom that wore heels to work around the house, can you imagine how uncomfortable that would be), but that courtesy, manners, how brothers and sisters behaved mattered. Even in the sitcoms, there were struggles, sibling rivalry, and a few crises arose. So while the sitcoms exaggerated, they also presented a life that most people were familiar with. A family could sit down and watch the show together, laugh and cry with the characters. I think one thought that came out of the shows were that there isn't a perfect life. No matter where you live or how many parents you have or don't have, nor the money could give a person a perfect life.

Frankly, I think a perfect live would be boring. I heard someone say one time, in response to a comment about how this person wished his life was like a straight line, that life is up and down, the only way life is a straight line is if you're dead.

Of course, out of the above sitcoms, if I had a choice of which life I'd like to have it would be Bonanza or Andy Griffith. Why, because they reached outside the immediate family to show how life affected others. Both had a family with a single parent and a sense of humor.

TMW-Why The Two Of Them, cont'd, Part 2

2010-01-26T07:20:00.000-06:00

The lake is where they spent their vacation every year..

The first part of Why the Two Of Them? can be found here

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The voice of her receptionist reminding her that it was three o'clock brought Randi back to the present. After shutting down her computer, she pulled out her purse, locked her laptop into her briefcase and headed out the door. As she pulled onto the fifty-nine north interstate, Randi realized there were a lot of people heading out of town. Reaching over she turned on her favorite Carley Simon cd's, listening to music as she drove along. She hoped her mother would be ready and in a good mood when she got to her house. Lately, her mom appeared ready to jump out of her skin at the least provocation. She had lost a lot of weight and aged ten years since Randi's father, Jamison, had died.

Leaving the city behind, Randi could feel herself relax. This was one of her favorite drives. By the time they reached the lake, in the past anyway, she would have left all of her frustrations and worries at the outer limits of Birmingham. It is such a scenic route, a straight shoot north, with farms, trees and quiet. Exiting onto ramp 141, she turned left onto Deerfoot, then left onto Old Springville Road. Her mom lived in the older section of Trussville. When she pulled into the driveway, her mom was sitting on the shaded front veranda, waiting. Placing the car in park, she pressed the trunk lid release. Before she could open her door, her mom was already coming down the sidewalk.

"Mom, let me have your suitcase, I'll put it in the trunk." Her mother handed it to her and went on around the car to the passenger side, getting in. Before getting back in the car, Randi glanced in at her mother who was sitting stiffly with her back pressed against the seat and her lips in a thin line.

"What's the matter, Mom?"

"You're fifteen minutes late. If you were going to be late, you should have called me. That way I could have called your Aunt Vera to come and pick me up."

"Mom, the traffic slowed me down, you know how it can be on a Friday afternoon. We'll make it up once we pass Ashland."

They drove in silence, which was fine with Randi, as she wanted to go over in her mind what she wanted to discuss with Sheriff Matthews tomorrow. She had decided to drive to his office and ask to view all they had on her Dad's and Tana's death. It was time to either solve the case or file it away. Hopefully, it would be solved, otherwise, the not knowing would just about drive her crazy.

Randi looked over at her Mom, who seemed to have relaxed some. She wanted to ask her questions about whether the Sheriff had told her anything about what they had discovered. She hesitated after her Mom's behavior at the house. She decided to just wait and discuss it with the Sheriff tomorrow. She'd not met him before, only had talked with him over the phone.

It was a quiet evening, her mom was still in odd behavior, and didn't want to talk. She claimed she had a headache and went off to bed early. Randi was sitting on the deck, listening to the night sounds. The tree frogs, the soft breeze whispering through the pines, bringing along the scent of honeysuckles and pine. Out here, she could look up into the sky, and without the city lights, see millions of stars. Occasionally, one would appear to twinkle. The sound of a car's tires crunching the gravel as it drove up the road broke into the peaceful night. When it passed under one of the lights, she realized it was the Sheriff's car. After he turned off the motor, he must have been on his cell phone, she could hear the clinking of the metal as it cooled off. Finally, he opened his door and stepped out. She really couldn't see his face at first, but once he stood, she realized he was a tall man, one who kept in shape.

Suddenly, a deep voice boomed out, "Miss Grayson, you have a few minutes to talk?"

"Sure, come on up, you want a cup of coffee?"

"That would be nice."

While he climbed up on the veranda, Randi went inside and placed cups, cream, sugar and coffee on a tray. When she came back out, he was sitting in one of the rocking chairs, smoking a pipe. She loved the smell of the tobacco he was using. A faint cherry smell.

"I hope you don't mind me smoking, it's the way I unwind in the evenings."

"No, I love the smell of pipe tobacco. It reminds me of my Granddad Grayson. He would smoke a pipe. I loved the smell it left on his clothes." She poured the coffee into cups and offered him cream and sugar. "What's on your mind Sheriff?"

"Miss Grayson, how's your mother? Does she seem alright since your dad died? Does she talk about what happened to you?"

"No, Sheriff, as a matter of fact, she doesn't. She's become extremely edgy, she's loosing weight, she's gotten forgetful and fearful. Why?"

"There's no easy way to say this, all the evidence points to your mother killing your father as well as your cousin, Tana."

"What! There's no way! They loved each other, mother would never kill dad!"

"Normally, I would agree with you, Miss Grayson, but"

"Call me Randi!"

"What, oh, okay, Randi, are you aware your mother is being treated for schizophrenia?"

Randi sat there stunned, she shook her head no, "How, when did this all start?"

"According to her doctor, she began to exhibit the symptoms about six months before your father died. Your father came in and talked with him two weeks before he died."

Randi began to shiver, "Why did dad want to talk with him?"

The Sheriff stood up and walked over to the swing, he pulled the afghan from the seat and wrapped it around Randi's shoulders., "It seems you mom had stopped taking her medicine. She began accusing your dad of having affairs and fearing he was going to divorce her, " he poured her a cup of hot coffee, spooning sugar and stirring it up, "drink this to keep you from shaking."

She took the cup and drank the coffee, "Dad has never had an affair, nor would he even consider it."

"It doesn't have to be true for your mom to believe it. Your dad confided to the doctor that she was following him. She would suddenly appear at a restaurant or on the sidewalk, just staring at him."

Randi murmured, "That explains the tensing of his body when I suddenly walked up on him. He was afraid of her. But why kill Tana, she was his niece for Pete's sake!"

"I don't think she intended to kill her. From what your Aunt Vera said, Tana, had just gotten off the phone with her boyfriend. They'd had an argument. I think Tana went down to her boat to think. She was probably lying there asleep, having dozed off. Your mom killed her thinking she might wake up and see her."

Randi pulled the afghan closer, "What's going to happen to her?"

"We'll arrest her, then admit her to the psychiatric ward at Medical Center East. Once she's been evaluated, we'll know how to proceed. My deputy and the doctor are waiting in his car for me to call them up. We'll wait for them to arrive before we wake her."

As he pulled out his cell phone and called them, Randi stood there numb and unsure of what to do next. She couldn't believe what he'd said, and yet, the signs were there.

A young woman dressed in a police uniform got out on the driver's side, while an older burley man got out on the passenger side.

He walked up the steps and held out his hand, "Miss Grayson, Charles Burton, your mother's doctor. Where is she?"

"She's asleep in her bedroom. Follow me and I'll show you. Will she be okay, she won't try to hurt herself or anyone else, will she?"

Dr. Burton replied, "I don't think so, but I have a shot ready to give her if she becomes violent. We'll go in first and talk with her."

She stood outside and waited. The only voices she heard were the doctor's and the Sheriff's. The door opened just enough for the Sheriff to step out. He took her by the arm and led her into the livingroom. In his hand he had a paper, "Randi, your mom killed herself and left you this letter. It's confusing, one minute she asks for your forgiveness, the next she feels that there are people trying to hurt her. I'm sorry."

Randi kept her head down, "I'm not sorry", she thought. It means the poison she'd placed in her mother's coffee at dinner had worked, in the nick of time. She had gotten quite a scare when the Sheriff's car had driven up. Now, it was all she could do to keep from smiling and giving away her secret. Instead, she looked up at the Sheriff, "Thank you Sheriff, now what do I do next?"

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Tuesday Morning Writings is a project sponsored by Gaelikaa and Judy Harper. The words are copyright of Judy Harper. Gaelikaa's story can be found here. We have MelRoXx back, her story will be found here . Here is Anu's story and we want to welcome Sheeza, she has a good story Here

TUESDAY MORNING WRITING-Pictures for 01/26/10

2010-01-24T18:35:00.010-06:00

Below are pictures to write about this coming Tuesday. We would love to have you join our group. Just right a story and send me a link before 8:00 AM CST, Alabama time, Tuesday, January 26. It would be better to send me your blog link so that we can add it to our story before publishing as it's difficult to add after the story

is published. In the meantime, if you can come up with a good sentence to go with the pictures below, just leave a comment!

She stood looking down into the cold water, so still...

The brochure of of the fishing village of Burano, Italy looked so inviting..

The lake is where they spent their vacation every year...

Pictures for this coming Tuesday Morning Writing.......01/26/10

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LBC-Doubts and Regrets

2010-01-22T09:00:00.002-06:00

ANU, ASHOK, CONRAD, GAELIKAA, GINGER, GRANNYMAR , HELEN, MAGPIE11, MARIA, (MARIANNA is on hiatus ) and RUMMUSER .

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I don't know if I can cover all my doubt and regret in one sitting. One real regret I have, happened several years ago, back in my twenties. I came into contact with a woman, about my age,at that time. She was an acquaintance, someone I had met at a church social, once, and Sunday School a couple of times. The class passed out sheets with our telephone numbers. She called me several time, but we only talked once. She was a very troubled person. Not too long after meeting her, I felt I should call her, but I didn't. One of those calls I put off because of many reasons, but I just didn't know what to say or what she wanted from me. I finally did call only to find out she had committed suicide the day before. So, now when I have a mental intuition to call, go see or anything like that, I do it. I don't know if my calling would have made a difference or if it might have just put off what she finally did. I still wish I had called her.

I have had a headache the last few days that has finally developed into a migraine, so I doubt that I can focus on anything more profound to say, so with regret, I'll say goodnight all.

What About Copyrights?

2010-01-20T07:00:00.002-06:00

Unless otherwise stated all images and words belong to me.

Please do not use or take without my permission. A link to

your blog or website is always appreciated and thank you

for respecting my copyright.

I'm just beginning to learn about all that's needed to be a writer, be it a book, story or writing group. Last week I was rushed and didn't have time to write a story for the Tuesday Morning writing group, so I copied and pasted one of the first stories I had written for another group. Without thinking, I copied the picture as well, it was what prompted the story. What I neglected to do was also post the bottom section of the story giving credit and copyright information on the picture. It just didn't occur to me as some of the people weren't with the current writing group, therefore I didn't copy and paste. But it's important to remember that I wouldn't want people copying words and information off my site without permission either. That's why I have the above copyright statement on my blog sidebar. I know I need to do more research on this topic, but a rule of thumb is to keep in mind how much I value my pictures and words, therefore others probably feel the same. So if you do belong to a group that allows you to use their pictures in your story, that if you use it again, be sure to post the ownership. That your story is yours, but the picture isn't.

What are y'all's thoughts on this subject? Do you have additional information on copyrights?

My Grandmother Manila, 1920 (I own this picture)

One of my pictures used in a story "The Four Sisters"

This is a borrowed picture from Tell Me A Story Tuesdays project sponsored by Elizabeth Harper of Gifts of The Journey. This picture is attached to the TMAST and a story I wrote

here (thanks Elizabeth for loaning me the above picture), you might want to check out the TMAST site for good stories written my me, Elizabeth and Gaelikaa...