Genre Wars

Got some shorts that need to be shown to the world? Then head over to Literary Lab and enter their short story contest. The deadline for the Genre Wars is December 1st. I have copied the contest guidelines from Lady Glamis' Blog (hope she doesn't mind :)

So what are you waiting for?

Contest Guidelines
1. E-mail your 1 to 2,000-word short story to LiteraryLab@gmail.com before December 1, 2009 at 11:59 p.m. PST. Paste the work in the body of the e-mail with breaks between paragraphs (hit return twice). We will be reading all submissions blind, thanks to a kind volunteer who will send us the entries with all names removed. No attachments will be opened.

2. In your e-mail subject line type GENRE WARS ENTRY. In the body of the email include your name, the title of your work, word count, and which genre category you'd like to compete in: 1. science fiction/fantasy, 2. horror/crime, 3. literary, 4. romance, 5. children's literature/middle grade/young adult, or 6. experimental--yes, you have to pick one.

3. Works must be previously unpublished, and we ask for the rights to post the winning stories online and/or in print in the anthology. Afterwards, you are free to include the story in your own collections or as a reprint in another anthology.

For link to the original post click here.

What else have you found to enter? Please share links.

Rejection comp.

I have an on going competition with my blogging mate Wendy from Onwords and Upwards to see which one of us will be first to ten rejections by the end of December. We are celebrating getting our work out there.

Care to join us? So far Wendy is winning, but I intend to stage a come back and whoop her ass :)

It's Raining Words

"One must be drenched in words

literally soaked in them

to have the right ones

form themselves into the proper pattern

at the right time."

~ Hart Crane

I'm all for a good soaking. Throw me under the shower. Fill up the bath. Hose me down. Or leave me out in the rain. I'll be the one running barefoot under the crying skies.

Give me a book. Give me a blog. Give me a magazine, a quote, a song and poem and I will show you one wet through happy girl. And please oh please bring me a cup of tea with a dash of dictionary and a thesaurus to snuggle up to and I will be yours forever.

What ever you do, don't take the words. That's how the last Ice Age really happened. They didn't tell you that in school did they! But I know. I am Tab after all :)

What about you? What are you doing to soak in words?

Still Stompin Through the Puddles?

"Ever tried

Ever Failed.

No Matter.

Try again.

Fail again.

Fail better."

~ Samuel Beckett

I am thankful for the lessons of failing.

These are some of my greatest moments of success

because I am still here

I am still trying

still stompin through the puddles...

What about you? Failed? Failing? Still moving forward? Care to share a moment that helped define you?

With a Grateful Heart

I give thanks for;

strawberry kisses from my fruit lipped boys, blankie cuddles, wake up smiles
sleepy eyes, bedtime stories
soft words bathed in morning light, baby toes and boyhood pockets filled with sand

I give thanks for;

rain and reflections in glassy puddles, the chance to look, the time to wonder, long days and even longer afternoons that don't fade with the setting sun

I give thanks for;

dinner tables filled with chatter, home filled with the sound of them, mismatched shoes, and even missing socks because it means my family surrounds me

I give thanks for;

Him, for be held and holding on, for a reason to continue, a purpose to build hope on, someone who I know is looking for me even before I admit I am lost

I give thanks for;

life and living

for them

for us

and for the ability to stop

and say thank you

with a grateful heart

~

What? You didn't think I was going to miss Thanksgiving just because we don't celebrate it here in Australia did you?Happy thanksgiving y'all. Enjoy the thankfulness.

What about you? Got any simple things or small moments you are thankful for?

(PS- thank you for the prayers for my girlfriend. We are awaiting a positive outcome.

And I think I forgot to tell you all the winner of The Bartered Bride by Erica Vetsch was Shelley. Thanks to everyone who entered.)

[image]

Postless

Sorry guys. No post today. I have had a pretty heavy day supporting a girlfriend whose husband has nicked off with her kids. If you are the praying kind, shoot one upwards for my girlfriend and her babies. We are praying that they would be returned safely and quickly. She has no idea where the kids have been taken. Mothers out there you will understand how nightmarish that would be. Family law courts are acting, but yesterday would not be too soon for things to happen.

Thanks,

Tab

The Smile Bearer

"What is it?"

"A Clown."

"No. I can see it is a clown. I mean..." I searched my brain, what did I mean? He took me by surprise, this seventeen year old boy. Who gives their girlfriend a miniature clown? Roses, now I knew what to do with roses. But clowns?

"Don't you like it?"

"Oh, well... yeah, it's cute... Why are you giving me a clown?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "It made me smile. I guess I thought you could use a smile."

Perfect. The clown was perfect.

That was the first of many smiles that boy found to give me.

One Christmas he bought me a Chihuahua. He hated Chihuahuas. But my first fury was very sick and he wanted me to have another little friend with soft ears to cry on when she passed away.

The pup was perfect.

One birthday he bought me a thesaurus and wrote in it, " I hope this helps your words to be seen by the world one day." He'd seen me pace and cry over words. I guess he'd also noticed me stroking dictionaries and the like in bookstores. More importantly, he knew I had a dream. I hadn't even admitted that to myself.

The thesaurus was perfect.

Then one May he bought me a ring.

Eleven years later two little boys ask to look at that pretty rock. My eldest wants to hear the stories. "Tell me about the clown again Mommy."

I have a few smile bearers now.

But he was the first.

I will forever be grateful.

~

What about you? Who or what brings you a smile?

[image]

No Hard Work Here

In a life before Stay-at-Home Mom I taught prep (4-5yr olds) and Year One (5-6yr olds). And no matter how busy the teaching days were I made sure we grabbed at least one book and enjoyed it, just for the hell of it.

It was very simple.

Take 30 odd children, add a few over sized cushions and find a spot away from other classrooms under a tree. Add a couple of great picture books and read.

There were two criteria for my book choices.

One- they must be fun.

Two- they must not be for the purpose of trying to teach kids anything.

I just wanted to read. I love to read aloud. Give me a book and a kid or two or three, and I will bring the voices the facial expressions. More importantly, I will bring me. And together, with those little eyes watching, we will weave enough dramatic magic to breathe life into that book.

And here's the big secret.

Ready?

It. Is. Not. Hard.

Parents used to ask me how I held the attention of 30 squiggly kids when they couldn't get their soccer playing, mud-slinging son to sit still for anything other than a feed. My answer was this. I am completely carried away by what I am reading.

I am in the moment. I am sold out to the words. I am who I am. Completely.

I am reading as much for me as I am for my little audience. I am not racing to the end of the book. I am not ticking a curriculum requirement box. I am not trying to fill in time. I am not even watching the clock.

I used to read last thing before the end of the day and when that bell went everyone, including me, went, "Ohhhh!"

Why am I sharing this?

Because I'd hate to think that you were missing the fun. And just quietly, I suspect that reading aloud makes you a better writer ;)

Grab a kid. (well, get permission first if they are not your own:) and a book that you like the look of. There is no right book. Only the book that interests you. Because if it interests you enough to read it then chances are you'll be enthused when reading. Then drop your inhibitions. Honestly. Kids really like stupid. If you feel stupid reading aloud then you are probably doing it just right. And it is only the kids watching anyway. What do you care? Have fun. Be a kid for as long as it takes you to get to The End. If that means you want to do all the voices then do them, if that means you'd like to sit quietly and share the word magic in a more settled way, then do that too. Don't try to teach. Just laugh and be laughed with. Whatever you do, Do. Not. Make. It. Hard. Work.

Now I am a Mom one of my favorite activities is still reading aloud. My boys love The Very Hungry Caterpillar's deep voice (you didn't know he had a deep voice hey! You didn't even know he had any lines to say in that book did you!) They love the tiny squeaky voice of the massive bear in 'Where's my teddy?' (I like that one too!) That voice still gets my eldest son giggling, and he has heard me do it for years.

The best lessons about reading and writing come when no one is trying to teach anything. You are just soaking up a great story. Enjoy. Soak it up. Get dripping wet in those words. :) Play. And watch the magic of reading happen. Then watch what happens when you go to write. Even if you do not write for children. Even if your tale is dark and serious. The magic still works.

What about you? Got any great tales of reading fun to share? What is the most fun you and a kid have had with a book?

BTW- children don't need to be young for this to work. I have also read aloud to older children who eventually crack under the pressure of fun and enjoy being read to again.

[image]

Dead Letter Department

There are some days when I wonder if what I am writing will ever matter to anyone other than me. Some days, hail from the grey sky days, I wonder if the written word matters at all. And then I am reminded...

I wanted to share this story with you. It is not my story and I did not write it. Sadly, the author is unknown to me. But the story is worth retelling because it says to me that words matter, especially if they only matter to one or two people.

~

A Writer in the 'Dead Letter' department of the Postal Service.

Our 14 year old dog, Abbey, died last month. The day after she died, my
4 year old daughter Meredith was crying and talking about how much she missed Abbey. She asked if we could write a letter to God so that when Abbey got to heaven, God would recognize her. I told her that I thought we could so she dictated these words:

Dear God,
Will you please take care of my dog? She died yesterday and is with you
in heaven. I miss her very much. I am happy that you let me have her as
my dog even though she got sick.I hope you will play with her. She likes to play with balls and to swim. I am sending a picture of her so when you see her You will know that she is my dog. I really miss her.
Love, Meredith

We put the letter in an envelope with a picture of Abbey and Meredith and addressed it to God/Heaven. We put our return address on it. Then Meredith pasted several stamps on the front of the envelope because she said it would take lots of stamps to get the letter all the way to heaven. That afternoon she dropped it into the letter box at the post office. A few days later, she asked if God had gotten the letter yet. I told her that I thought He had.

Yesterday, there was a package wrapped in gold paper on our front porch addressed, 'To Meredith' in an unfamiliar hand. Meredith opened it. Inside was a book by Mr. Rogers called, 'When a Pet Dies.' Taped to the inside front cover was the letter we had written to God in its opened envelope. On the opposite page was the picture of Abbey & Meredith

and this note:


Dear Meredith,
Abbey arrived safely in heaven.
Having the picture was a big help. I recognized Abbey right away.
Abbey isn't sick anymore. Her spirit is here with me just like it stays
in your heart. Abbey loved being your dog. Since we don't need our
bodies in heaven, I don't have any pockets to keep your picture in, so I
am sending it back to you in this little book for you to keep and have
something to remember Abbey by.
Thank you for the beautiful letter and thank your mother for helping you
write it and sending it to me. What a wonderful mother you have. I
picked her especially for you.
I send my blessings every day and remember that I love you very much.
By the way, I'm easy to find, I am wherever there is love.

Love,
God

[image]

What about you? What reminds you that words matter?

The World is Yours.

STORYTIME: Travel with me to Imagination

There were once two girlfriends travelling together in a time before they had children. They were deliciously irresponsible, fliting around the world, two caravan-gypsies, sitting on this plane and that train. 

Today their train was going nowhere. Oh, they bought tickets to somewhere, but Singapore with its efficient-no gum on the pavements-tie your laces-mind your manners country somehow managed to have a train that was not running on schedule. Their train sat obstinately idle between two stations, rebelling from its clipped timetabled surroundings. Or waiting for another train to pass or a change of signal. Or perhaps it was waiting for the will to continue down the track.

Whatever.

The girls were not bothered. The destination was never the point anyway. They simply liked movement. And they had both been the Singapore zoo before.

So, there they sat, drinking in scenes outside the graffiti-free windows, shoving each other playfully and saying things like, "Wouldn't it be great if you could get a seat like this on the trains in Hong Kong?"

They both worked there slaving away behind bars... actually, that's not true. They both worked in Hong Kong loving most minutes of teaching at an international school. But carrying on a love/hate type affair with this city of people, people and more people. The city that never found cause to sleep or even bow its head in rest unless of course, you counted the napping-Chinese lucky enough to be sitting down on some form of public transport.

"If I were a queen we would both always get seats on the train," said the first girl.

"If you were queen?" The second girl laughed.

"Okay then, you can be a queen too. What would you do if the world was yours?"

"I am a queen and the whole world is mine?"

"Yep, the whole world." The first girl stretched her arms wide.

"Do I have to keep Hong Kong on the planet?" the second girl asked.

They both laughed at that one because without their city of taxis and dripping air conditioning systems they would never have found each other. And besides, deep down they loved Hong Kong.

"Seriously. What would you do if the world was yours?" the first girl asked again.

The train started moving sometime after. It must have. But neither of the girls noticed the clean streets going by. They were too busy re-planning the world. 

Whole systems of politics and organizations with steel teeth and large appetites were being destroyed. The starving were fed and the homeless were housed. Because naturally, the Hurting and Hopeless were top priority.

The two young queens dreamed in animated conversation. Lengthy dreams that would turn presidents grey with the weight of their expectations. 

Simple dreams where grass grew right down the middle of tree-lined streets and every man held the door open for every lady. If she wanted them too, of course. A world where roses in vases where mandatory and queuing in lines was completely banned.

And lastly, before they stepped off that Singapore train, they turned to each other and said, "We would always get a seat on the trains in Hong Kong."

They were queens after all.

What about you? Do you remember a time when you dreamed that the whole world was yours? Do you need to dream again?

BTW- True story. Ode to my girlfriend Michelle and all her fantastical questions :) Remember when we dreamed the world was ours?

[image]

What if you dream of faded lace?

I have a confession.

I dream of faded lace and tea stained afternoons.
All things lavender scented and vintage whisper my name...

Lace covered coffee tables, Old English poets, floor to ceiling libraries filled with leather bound books from another era, fireplaces with carved oak mantles, powder white iron tables set beneath weeping willows, afternoon teas complete with neat little triangle sandwiches and cupcakes clothed in pastel icing, and bud shaped tea cups.... all make me sigh with wanting.

Sorry.

I know that was a very long confession. But truthfully, it should have been longer. I didn't even get to mention brown paper packages or Sound of Music type rain drops that fall on eyelashes. Nor did I squeeze in tree lined avenues or horse drawn carts, the likes of which Ann of Green Gables would have appreciated. Ah well...

But you get the picture. Though my house is bares the mark of my designer husband and my own distinct taste for red leather dining room chairs standing astute around our massive solid wood table, I am still easily wooed by lace and moonlight, thinning pages of ancient books and a time and era which I was not born to, but none the less romanticize in my mind.

I long to gaze out picture book windows and wile away cobalt blue days looking through antique stores. I am a dreamer of old.

Sepia tones inspire me. What can I say?

So it was with great pleasure that I stumbled across Sarah's blog The TeaStained Page.

Now I warn you, this girl's writing is beyond her years and full of enough lyrical magic and beauty to make you want to cry. Especially when you find out how old she is. But I suggest you join her blog so you can say you knew her before she was rolling around in six figure book deals.

Sarah, I hope you pursue writing with all the passion your words display. I pass on this award

given to me by Jill, to you Sarah. Enjoy girl, and continue to inspire us with your imagery.

Go check her out people :)

What about you? What inspires you? Feel free to shout out some blogs in the comments section that inspire you as well.

[image]

A Fist Full of Colors

I have a fist full of colors. Possibilities attached to strings I hold in my hand. A fist full of breath. A fist full of life that has yet to be lived. Colors of dancing begging to be released, longing to float, waiting to fly...

but I hold them up to the sun and panic.

"What if?" I ask myself.

"What if?" I whisper to the vast blueness.

"What if I am not enough? What if I am too much?"

"What if no one comes to find me? What if everybody comes, but I can't be found?"

And the questions pluck the wings off butterflies.

They suck the air out of flight.

And suddenly what I am holding seems too small to have significance. Too many to expect them all to fly. Too few to think that if they did rise on the winds that any would weather the distance.

When I fist saw these colours they were not the strings in my hand attached to balloons, but the immature squiggles of coloring. My pudgy fingers clumped around a pencil I could not control and had no hope of using to turn into beautiful marks on a page.

The colors were just a mass of lines circling a page.

Free and wild.

Unplanned and unknown.

Some days at the bottom of wells I loose sight of the skies. Darkness places his cold face against my cheeks and curls his lips around lies. He nails rake across my skin telling me that I am empty. There no balloons. I never had anything worth releasing.

But I feel the tug at the end of strings. Something is in my hands. Something I care about. And I remember the colors. How I filled those childish drawings with life and longing. How I want things that matter. Things that were given to my heart to long for. Things that I want others to see. Colors. Free and Wild. Unplanned and still largely unknown.

When I climb up and out and find my feet beneath the skies again, I shake and shiver. The remnants of darkness that wants me alone and all to himself.

But I am here. Beneath the blue...

I have a fist full of colors. Possibilities attached to strings I hold in my hand. A fist full of breath. A fist full of life that has yet to be lived. Colors of dancing begging to be released, longing to float, waiting to fly...

Release them Tab. Nothing happens while you are holding on, except the holding. Let them go.

~

What about you? What do you hold in your hand and long to release?

[image]

Blog Tour for The Bartered Bride

Please welcome Erica Vetsch, author of The Bartered Bride to my blog today. Read on and leave a comment for your chance to win a copy of this latest release.

Thank you, Tabitha, for having me here on your blog to talk about The Bartered Bride. I’d love to talk about the highs and lows of writing category romance. First, a quick definition of category romance: a story where the main plot is the romance, guy gets girl, with a happily ever after ending. The story must fit fairly strict guidelines as to content and word count, and usually has a fairly short shelf-life, as new books will come up to replace it within a month or so of release. Examples: Heartsong Presents Romance, Steeple Hill’s Love Inspired lines, Harlequin books.

There are several responses I’ve gotten when someone finds out I write category romance for Heartsong Presents.

· Category Romance? Isn’t that a frivolous way to spend your time? Christians shouldn’t spend their time on romance.

· Category Romance. Those are short books. Not like writing a REAL novel.

· C Category Romance. Aren’t those all the same? The guidelines are so tight, every story must sound exactly alike.

· Category Romance! I LOVE those. I’ve been a longtime member of the HP book club and can’t wait to get your book!

Obviously, I love the last response the best, but let’s look at the other three a bit closer.

Category Romance? Isn’t that a frivolous way to spend your time? Christians shouldn’t spend their time on romance. Misconceptions about what Christian Romance Fiction is abound. I can assure you, I don’t write smut, and I don’t write to titillate or tease. In no way do I want to lead my reader astray or beyond what they feel comfortable with. What do I want to accomplish with Christian Romance?

1. Provide an entertaining read. Take the reader to another time and place and allow them to experience the story in a way that entertains and pleases.

2. Showcase the beauty of a romantic relationship that glorifies God and lets the reader see the benefits and blessings of loving someone the way God intended.

3. Show that Christians are real people, with real desires, real struggles, and real feelings.

4. Reach my target audience: Christian women who want their faith affirmed through love stories that glorify God.

Category Romance. Those are short books. Not like writing a REAL novel.

I’ve gotten this response more times than I care to think about. But if I may, I’d like to list a few of the things that go into a category romance that also go into a trade-length/full-length novel.

· Character development. The story has to be ABOUT someone.

· Setting development. The story has to take place SOMEWHERE and the story must be true to that location and time period.

· Plot. SOMETHING has to happen in the story.

· Spiritual thread. The characters must learn and be changed spiritually throughout the story.

· Romance. The guy and girl must fall in love and have a happily-ever- after promise for the future.

The challenge for the category romance writer is to do all the same things needed in a trade-length manuscript, but in HALF the words.

In addition to the content being similar to a trade-length romance, the production process is the same. I go through content edits, copy edits, galley edits, cover art, author bio sheets, all the steps needed to get a book from contract to bookstore shelves, whether trade-length or category. Trust me, this FEELS like writing REAL books, regardless of the impression it might give to someone who has never tried it.

Category Romance. Aren’t those all the same? The guidelines are so tight, every story must sound exactly alike.

There are certain guidelines that Heartsong Presents has that are unchangeable. The word count cannot be changed, for printing and shipping reasons. I’m cool with that. There are also content rules that need to be followed. The characters must be chaste, no sizzling sex-scenes. I’m way cool with that. There must be a happy ending where the hero and heroine are in love and planning a future together. Since this is the entire foundation of romances, I have NO problem writing with this goal in mind. I don’t want to gyp my readers, by promising them a happy ending and giving them something else.

That being said, there is an entire world of possibilities within those guidelines. I’ve written about shipping magnates, lighthouse keepers, ship builders, a ranch foreman, a small town sheriff, and a stage coach driver. I’ve gotten to write about a suffrager, a housekeeper, a mathematics genius, a cowgirl, a baker, and a lady detective in the Old West.

I’ve gotten to explore themes like Trusting God, the sovereignty of God, God as a refuge, God as creator, God has a plan for our lives, and so many more.

I’ve set books in the Guilded Age, in Duluth, MN, in the wild west in SW Idaho. Pending books are set in Texas and Colorado, gold mines and ranches.

The beauty of fiction is that even within strict guidelines, the story is yours to craft in your unique way.

Category Romance! I LOVE those. I’ve been a longtime member of the HP book club and can’t wait to get your book!

Obviously, I love this response the best. So if you haven’t tried a Christian Category Romance, I hope you’ll be willing to reserve judgment until you’ve read one. It doesn’t have to be mine, but I wouldn’t complain!

Thanks Erica!

What about you? What surprised/interested you about the world of romance writing? Please leave a comment to enter to win a copy of The Bartered Bride.

Remembrance Day

Hey all,

I was going to sit this post out. Just go missing in action. Or say something trite about my words being lost or all choked up and then mumble my apologies. But then I gave this post a title.

Remembrance Day.

November 11th.

A day when Australia stops and remembers our fallen heroes in wars past and those who fight for our freedoms today.

And I decided that the least I can do is share my Remembering.

For me Remembrance Day is little more personal. But still about fallen heroes.

One year ago today I held my grandfather's hand and watched as he took his last breath.

I don't think the sadness has settled in me yet. The Autumn leaves are still falling on that grief I guess. My memories of him still feel like a Spring's walk. Fresh. Warm. Like the yellow path in the photo above.

That's all.

I just wanted to say I remember.

And my thoughts of him are long and peaceful. It still feels like I could go visiting tomorrow and there he'd be. Sitting and waiting. Ready to take another walk.

There are no other words tonight.

I want to have a shower and crawl into bed.

So forgive the absence on your blogs. I usually stay up so I can catch those of you who post early in the morning there in the US. But I just don't have it in me tonight.

Catch you tomorrow? (which will be your Wednesday evening)

Blessings to all.

I am off to be gentle with me.

Tab:)

[image]

Well Loved Things

Before I was a writer I knew about Well Loved Things...

Well Loved Things have small ears, big ears, no ears at all, or perhaps floppy ears that once stood straight. They have some fur or patchy fur or fur coats that need patching or sticky patches of fur where ice-cream fingers hold them tight.

Well Loved Things have long tails or missing tails or tails that need sewing and seams that need stitching. Well Loved Things are missing that new smell, that 'just opened smell' and now, they just smell. Well Loved Things are torn, pulled, fought over, squashed, folded and threadbare. They are missing one button eye, both button eyes, two whiskers, the hat they came with, an arm and the velvet off the once black nose. But Well Loved Things don't care. Their flaws are completely undetected.

They are never missing their child... unless of course...

...they fall from shelves or bedposts or back packs on the first day of school. Well Loved Things fall from cribs and car seats and highchairs and prams and often from sleeping children's hands onto the bedroom floor. Well Loved Things fall from bicycle baskets and buckets and boxes and all sorts of hidy holes. They fall from adventures in doll houses, car garages and the tops of castles and cubby house landings.

Yes, Well Loved Things fall a lot, such is the life of a Well Loved Thing.

But Well Loved Things don't care.

Well Loved Things are too busy taking weekly, sometimes daily, trips around and around in the washing machine or important trips to the dentist or doctors office clasped in the arms of their child. They take trips to the beach, the park, Great Aunt Martha's house and maybe even to church on Sunday morning. Well Loved Things are busy being tucked up under blankets and suffocated beneath little arms, only to resurface at the bottom of bedsheets the following morning.

And Well Loved Things wouldn't have it any other way.

Well Loved Things are lost under cuddles when the thunder shakes the skies above, or lost beneath tears when nothing about the day went right. They are lost in cinemas, in grocery carts, in Mommy's bag, in the car or sometimes even over night at Nan and Pops. Well Loved Things spread sunshine when they are found and sighs of relief from worried parents who know they can never replace a Well Loved Thing.

And Well Loved Things wouldn't have it any other way.

Well Loved Things are quiet, when listening is needed and loud, when silence is scary. They are friends in darkness and solitude in crowds of faces. Well Loved Things keep secretes and tell no tales. They are the friends that never grow old, even when their seams burst, stuffing breaks forth and their child out grows them. Well Loved Things never leave, at least not on purpose, and they never forget. They remain, they are still, they are fixed in time and waiting... because

Well Loved Things are the important stuff of childhood.

And Well Loved Things wouldn't have it any other way.

My Well Loved Thing had a name. Mingy. A mangy teddy mouse with a scrappy tail. And even now I long to find him. In a box, somewhere, he still lives. Mingy isn't really lost, as Well Loved Things never are, because somewhere a child remembers. Even if they are now an adult.

In a box in my mind I have him safe.

A well loved thing that I loved well.

And now I am a writer I use my knowing of Well Loved Things to craft that same feeling in the words I write. I want my books to be the kinds of friends that never leave and never forget. The kind you can revisit. The kind that always have arms wide opened.

What about you? What Well Loved Thing do you have boxed in your mind? And what do you dream of crafting in your books?

Paper Babies

Ever met a Paper Artist? No? Well, join me in welcoming Kjesten Anna Hayes to my blog. She creates beautiful Paper Babies and sells them online (check out the links below) And any family member following my blog, these delightful books are on my Christmas list this year... HINT HINT.... (was that subtle?)

As a writer I am intrigued by not only words, but also paper. Pretty paper, patterned paper, textured paper and paper creations. I found Kjesten's blog a little while back and have been a massive fan ever since. Her books are true works of art... and I can think of nothing better then filling their pages with poetry or journal entries... (got any one on your own Christmas present list who would love one of these?)

Anyway, let's hear from the Talent herself... I invited her to tell us a little about herself and how she discovered her love of all things papery...

~

"I left the first day of my college book-making course feeling like my universe had expanded so much that my head was going to explode. So that’s when my love of handmade books began.

When I started binding my own journals, I had no idea I was beginning my career as a paper artist. But I did well selling the journals I made at my school’s annual professional craft fair, so I signed up for other fairs. I learned paper-making in a special work-shop and started integrating my handmade papers into the books I sold.

It was also towards the end of college that I started to give myself permission to dream about what was closest to my heart: illustrating children’s picture books. It would take years of hard work and struggle for me to hone my skills as an artist towards those of an illustrator, but the seeds to do so were planted at the same time I began making handmade books. My skills in illustration and my skills in book-making developed along-side one another and so they influenced one-another.

My love of illustration, inspired designs for covers of my handmade books. And making thousands of cover designs for handmade books taught me the ins and outs of my medium, paper. The way textures and colors worked together became second nature to me and influenced how I thought about collage illustration. It was natural for me to become a collage illustrator.

Since my son’s birth several years ago, I’ve largely focused my efforts towards the greater of my passions, children’s picture books (check out my portfolio here http://www.kjerstenannahayes.com/illustration_p1.html ) But I’ll always be thankful for my roots in book-making and the craft industry. I continue to maintain an etsy shop ( http://www.etsy.com/shop/kjerstenhayes ) and I’ve continued to make lots of custom orders for beloved customers who have been buying from me for years. It’s a joy to create special sanctuaries for their hopes, dreams and beloved memories.

I share bits of my process, journaling inspirations, and other tid-bits on my own blog, Collage Clips ( http://kjerstenannahayes.blogspot.com/ )

Stop by and say hi sometime.

Thanks so much for the opportunity to say hi to your readers, Tabitha!"

~

So... What about you? What are your paper obsessions? And what are you still doing here on my blog? ... go check her out! And put your order in for those beautiful books... (family members are you getting this???)

Possiblities?

Fear is the devil’s wine

Disorientating souls

Our wave; the future, lost

Do you drink it in?

Possibilities bursting?

Or float dreams on life?

~

What about you? Drink or float? Or sips from the cup offered in between the floating?

[image]

Posting Woes

Hey all,

I am out of town this week and I have been trying to continue posting and being on your blogs, but the Internet connection here is woeful. Please forgive the lack of real post today and I will try to get on your blogs, but this wireless is temperamental, throws tantrums and drops out of service without warning.

I will be back on Monday, if not before. I am going to try for 'before'. :)

Writing Here and There

There is over There.

Miles from where I am. Here is where I am.

Sitting. Wailing. Pulling out tuffs of grass.

Wondering if I will ever get There.

Because There is where the words come together.

Here is about irratiting things like stillness and balance.

Here is where words skid into sentences, sending dust flying and making me cough. Here is re-writing after the re-write. Head in hands. Then fingers hovering over keys.

Unsure.

Here is about reaching for some place I want to belong if only I could just... move.

There is where glorious paper realities live. My writing sticks its touge out at me. But it won't budge. It likes Here because this is where I am.

No one can work this hard and live here forever right? Like wind through trees. Leaves rustle. Moments. Pass.

Waves roll up on beaches. The moon draws the tide.

And I am going to find my legs.

One day I might be There.

Where I thought I'd die if I never arrived.

But then of course when I am There, then I am really again, Here again.

Because life is fluid. And the future is never home.

Here becomes home, every time you get There.

One day I hope we will go There together. My writing and I. We have dreams. Don't you? And when I knock on the door of There I will laugh and say, "Oh, so Here we are."

Magic. Hey presto. The joy of living in the now. The joy of finding joy half way up hills. Where ever your feet tread. Not easy... but I am taking in the surrounding landscape of Here.

After all There will always be There.

What about you? What do you do to enjoy Here while longing to be There?

Poetry

Yeah me!

Just had to share this little moment with you all. The poem I posted here, an acrostic using the word FAITH won best poem of the month in its category. I am thrilled!

I have never written an acrostic before, this was my first attempt and I am more than a little humbled to win because of the fine poets I was in competition with.

Acrostic Only posts prompts monthly that anyone can enter. Click here to find out more.

Poetry and I have been friendly for a while. Ever since ever I have written poems, though most of them deserve to be closed in the dusty books at the back of my wardrobe where they sit. Poetry wooed me early in life. I swooned and worshipped the ground it walked on. It doesn't mean I wrote it well.

Try it. Go on. I dare you.

We writers know, put words together well and they sing, get it wrong and readers hear finger nails on chalkboards. But poetry helps develop an ear for the rhythm of words and heightens my observations of life. In poems my heart unfolds. My prose can only benefit. I encourage you to try it, even if it is not your thing. Even though my own poetry is far from full bodied, crafting poetry is like a gym work out for writing muscles. Cross training for writers if you will. Prose can only benefit.

No Synonyms...

Someone once said, 'there is not such thing as a synonym, only the perfect word.'

That is what poetry forces me to look for. The PERFECT word. Choosing the one word that defies the emotional landscape. The texture and tone of any writing is word choice. And the less lines I am playing with the more zealous I am about the PERFECT word.

Poets I Admire

If you'd like to check out some poets I admire, the following bloggers know exactly how to turn words into a velvet pleasure. Many of them are published poets, all with serious talent.

Sharla at She Poet http://shepoet.blogspot.com/

Jason Evans at Clarity of Night http://clarityofnight.blogspot.com/

SarahA at Dancing with the Waves of the Sea http://wwwwherethewindblows.blogspot.com/

Amais at the Magic of Integrated Circuitshttp://themagicofintergratedcircuits.blogspot.com/

Lori A. May at (doesn't actually post her poems but links to her latest anthology which is mind blowingly good! http://loriamay.blogspot.com/

Kay at Loud Silence http://notsoez2plz.blogspot.com/

Welcome to my world of Poetry at http:welcometomyworldofpoetry.blogspot.com/

Check them out. Tell 'em I sent you :)

What about you? Which poets do you admire? I'd love links to more poetry blogs too if you have any to recommend.