This may be my last post until we return from Canada. Apparently, We are going to visit lots of beaches and different sites along the way. So, I am going to post some pictures here now of the places we may be taken to see along the way. They did say we are going to visit lots of beaches. I will try to stay in touch along the way. Karen 🙂
So often I hear people say, “oh, I can’t do that” and I say “ why not?” Believing in you and what you can be, what you can become, is totally dependent on believing you can. It really is that simple. You may not be the best at what you choose to be, but you can do it. Being the best is not the point. The point of it all is that you did your best.
A few years ago, I was the worst fiction writer ever, although I was good at research writing. However, fiction writing is a totally different kettle of fish, as they say. It was embarrassing, as I struggled to be a fiction writer, but I learned. I learned by reading lots of fiction, by observing and studying other people’s writing, especially on WordPress – a great place to learn.
Actually, several WordPress writers helped me to be a better writer with gentle critiques and I continued learning by reading, and most importantly, by writing! The saying Practice Makes Perfect…is true, although I am still far from being a great fiction writer. I am now greatly improved and I keep practicing and writing.
Your wish to do something or be something that you never thought you could do or be, is no different than any other learned skill. You just must believe that you can, and that is what really counts – you did your best.
I love short stories and when I saw what Roberta had posted, I was thrilled and will purchase this anthology of murder mystery short stories ASAP. I will be traveling soon and this book will be perfect to take with me. Thank you Roberta.
Thank you to author Teri Polen for this lovely review of Death Among Us, an anthology of short murder mystery stories. Teri blogs over at Books and Such and writes amazing reviews for a lovely selection of books, particularly in the YA science fiction, horror and supernatural genres.
Who knew death could be so eclectic? Relish this mesmerizing murder mystery mash-up of short stories.
The stories include the 2019 SIA Award-Winning Murder Mystery Short Story ‘The Rose Slayer.’
Murder and mystery have been the staple of literature and films for years. This anthology of short stories will thrill and entertain you. Some will also make you laugh out loud. Others will stop and make you think.
Think of this murder mystery short story anthology as a book version of appetizers or starters, hors d’oeuvre, meze, or antipasti. It can be read as fillers between books or, as is the case…
Everyone needs to read this post by Sally Cronin. If a long healthy life is your plan, the most important part is to have a healthy digestive system and this post by Sally Cronin on her Smorgasbord – Variety is the Spice of Life blog tells it as it really is.
As we move through the body there is one system which contains a number of major or essential organs.. this is the Digestive System and it is designed to extract the nutrients the body needs from the food we eat… It is a system that we try to second guess frequently, especially when the latest official guidelines are published by the ‘experts’ or the a new fad diet becomes all the rage.
The digestive system is not voiceless…if you get a stomach upset, feel nauseous, get a headache or a rash.. it is your gut brain letting you know it is not happy. It works on the principal that after hundreds of thousands of years evolving, it knows very well what it needs and if it comes in a packet along with additives and artificial sweeteners, colourings and chemically produced nutrients… that is not it.
She always went to the beach for a bit of clarity.
The movement of the water on the sand brought her back into her own breath. The rush of energy reminded her of the push of arteries, the pull of veins. The predictably irregular rhythm of the surf reminded her how ebb and flow do not mean that things will be uniform. They’ll come and go. Each unique. Each set its own and inseparable from what flowed forth before and what is following.
She could count on a wave and then another and another, on the rise and fall, the crash and wash, the small detritus that each leaves and yet is part of what had been and what will be and what just is.
Like the muddy, murky, uncertainties of everything.
Where the one thing she could trust was that another wave will come…
50 years ago, the human race set foot on the moon, the culmination of a journey begun in 1961 with President John F. Kennedy’s call for the U.S.A. to gather around this project, “We choose to go to the moon. We choose to go to the moon in this decade and do the other things, not because they are easy, but because they are hard, because that goal will serve to organize and measure the best of our energies and skills, because that challenge is one that we are willing to accept, one we are unwilling to postpone, and one which we intend to win, and the others, too” (JFK). He made the challenge, and the United States of America accepted it.
The moon landing remains the most extraordinary scientific and technological achievement in the history of the human race. We should celebrate this event, remember its importance, and…
I see, feel, hear, and know in the dark of night, a world of beings that beg to be heard, like a cry in the night a thousand times over as each second of every moment crosses into the annals of time. Each sigh a precious thought, only to be echoed across a silent world that hears them naught.
I stand, head bowed, as though I must attend an ocean burial of all the human sighs that cry out in the night. I feel my feet move toward the ocean’s spray. My arms are full of white roses to give to the sighs that have drowned within these crystal clear waters that now cover my ankles.
I wade into the crisp, cold waters, wondering if there is any peace of mind as their sighs sink into the sandy tide that washes the shore. I wonder if, perchance, the warmth of the sun will come to bathe these now silence sighs, to give them warmth on their silence journey. Although their sighs were not heard by all, others who awakened in the night heard them too, but did nothing. I feel my tears flow into the salty sea, and as each petal drops, I say a whispered pray.
If there be clarity at all, this I know, the earth heals its wounds though eons shall pass, and one day each sigh will be heard by all, as a giant wave covers the earth to wash away all the sins of mankind.
As I stand here underneath this ancient tree, looking out over a wide expanse of dark water, I wonder at the lives once lived in this Castle. What secrets does it still hold.
I wonder about the wandering spirits that surely abide there, still, wandering, about the Castle walls, not really aware that their time is long past. I wondered too, how they felt or if they felt lost and alone or did they still live in that long ago past. Are they in anyway aware that time passes, and other lives are lived as they once did.
I also wonder what loss or trauma has kept them wandering on this earthly plane of existence as spirits. Are they angry at some betrayal or did their grief over some earthly matter take them by surprise. I wish I could spare them their anguish.
I remain standing, alone, under this ancient tree, yet, I do not see the color of its leaves, or feel the breeze through my hair, or the brightness of the sun. I don’t hear the chirping sound of birds, or the flow of water on the nearby spring that flows through the forest.
My world is now shades of gray, for I am also a wandering spirit. How I came to be standing under this ancient tree, I do not know. So many memories are lost to me. How long have I been gone and how long must I remain in this lonely state of being? I do not know. I can only hope that my life was spent in good deeds to others or did I commit some terrible deed that I must repay in some way.
This week, I shared my ideas about writing political poetry. You can read that article HERE. Political poetry is difficult to write. You don’t want to preach, but you also want to get your feelings across to others. How do you do that?
To start, you can choose a topic that brings you the most outrage. From there, describe how that topic affects you – what you believe in, and how that makes you feel.
For my weekly poetry challenge, I chose to write about fake news using the Tanka form. I like the Tanka because you can assemble your thoughts into short bursts, which I think resemble fake news phrases. At least, that was my intent.
Those two little words (fake news) do more damage to our freedoms than any other. If we can’t believe what we hear from our elected officials, where does that leave us?
grace the plot
of old fables
and of fairy tales,
gaining princes and crowns.
How unfair of the writers,
to deny those more unsightly,
all the riches within the pages
and the right to happy ever after.