CJ's Writer Thoughts

Rusty Daily and CJ Write Some Poetry

2012-02-19T18:22:00.002-05:00

I have a poet friend that I've known for almost forever. His name is Rusty Daily and he and his wife, Kathleen, live in Indianapolis. That's a long way from Pennsylvania, and why I've never had the pleasure of meeting them. Robert and I have four children in four different states, and that pretty much takes up whatever free time we have, just traveling here, there and everywhere to see our kids and grandkids.

Rusty and Kathleen Daily

But I digress ... I first met Rusty many years ago at an online writing community, AuthorsDen.com. We were both posting poetry for children there and often commented on each other's work. Our tastes were very similar, running towards the silly, insightful, or outright goofy, and somewhere along the way, we started doing some co-writing. One of us would write a couple of lines as a starter, then email it to the other one. Back and forth the poem went between us, until it just felt right.

Today, I want to share just a little bit of that co-writing. Oh, and I've written to Rusty recently, trying to nudge him into writing a few more poems with me. Like me, underneath that adult and senior exterior, he's also just a silly kid ...

Wedgies

by Rusty and CJ

You know what makes me laugh
and puts me into stitches?
It's when I grab ahold and pull
the waist of someone's britches.

It’s fun. It's called a wedgie
and what a super name,
just pull and yell out WEDGIE!
It‘s really the coolest game.

Hmmm, now who should I get,
lil sissy or my big brother?
Or maybe I should get my dad
but definitely NOT my mother!

And you NEVER do grandmas and grandpas.
To do that you‘d have to be nuts
('cause everyone knows that old people
don't even have any butts).

All By Myself

by Rusty and CJ

I gotta play by myself today
cause Mommy is cleaning and mopping.
Then she’ll be calling a sitter
for when she goes grocery shopping.

The sitter, she’s really boring.
She’s always on the dumb phone,
or painting her nails or combing her hair
so I guess I’ll be playing alone …

I think I will get out my play dough
and make a spaghetti pie.
Or maybe, I'll feed all my dollies
so they won't be fussy and cry.

At two, I’ll watch my TV shows.
Till then, I'll build with my blocks.
When I'm done, I'll pick them all up
(if I can get 'em all back in the box).

Maybe later, my secret friend and me
will draw a picture or two
with all my favorite crayons,
specially the reds, greens and blues.

I really like my toys and games
and my other good stuff … but gee,
I think ALL playing’s is funner
when Mommy is here beside me.

Monster

by Rusty and CJ

After all my books are read,
Mommy says it's time for bed.

Teeth are brushed, all pearly white,
and now I have to go night-night.

Daddy walks me up the stairs,
and helps me say my bedtime prayers.

He fluffs the pillow for my head,
then lifts me up into my bed.

Mommy tucks me in real tight
cause monster visits me at night.

Tippy-toe, the monster hovers,
and tries to slip beneath my covers.

Round my bed the monster dances
waiting for his little chances

to see a gap, then in he'll go
to grab my finger or a toe.

I feel him crawling up my bed!
He's started licking at my head.

If I don't run, I know that he'll
have me for his monster meal.

And in the dark, what's that I see?
Two glowing eyes stare back at me!

Should I yell with all my might
for Dad to come turn on the light?

He might get mad if I did that...
Come here, Monster, you silly cat!

More of our co-written poetry can be found on my website, Barking Spiders Poetry on the Cj & Rusty Poetry Page. If you enjoyed these, you'll also enjoy the others!

When I Get to Heaven, I'm Gonna Ask ...

2012-02-15T07:23:00.000-05:00

"Life is unfair, and it’s not fair that life is unfair."

~Edward Abbey, 1927~1989

Why is it ...

I've come to the conclusion that someday, when I get to heaven, I'm going to ask God a few questions. I've been saving them all up. There are things that really bug me and I've never found answers to them here on this human plane called earth.

Why is it that innocent children are allowed to be born to parents who don't give a darn? For the most past, the children raise themselves. They're slapped around and abused, and worse yet, they're shown no love or affection at all by the so-called parents. Then on the flip side, there are hundreds of thousands of couples who would give most anything they have, just to be able to conceive a child. They wait with unconditional love filling their hearts to pour into a child, if only they were given the opportunity and were blessed to have one.

Here's another question I'm planning to ask. Why is it that prisons are overflowing with psychotic people who live long and wasted lives? Then again on the flip side, there are so many men, women and children who die young, their goodness and talents never to be realized, nor shared with the world.

I also have this to ask: why is it that we women spend our lives and our valuable time shaving or waxing various parts of our anatomy to comply with society's set norms and then, when we finally manage to make it to our golden years, the only places hair will even grow is on our heads and on our upper lips and chins? Why is that?

For men it's almost as bad. The hair on their heads thins out, or becomes non-existent, and when they reach their golden years, the only places hair WILL grow -- and quite profusely, I might add, is in and on their ears and in their nostrils. Why is that?

Why is it that there are people in the world that don't value life and who hate others, based purely on differences of religion, sexual orientation, or the color of their skin? Then they spend the majority of their lives planning ways to unleash their hate on innocent people, like with the Twin Towers in New York City. Why is it?

Spiritual counselor, Gary Zukav, says that everything is as it should be. He says things happen for a reason, and that reason is, for our spiritual growth and awareness. Maybe so, but someday I'm going to ask the questions anyway ...

Stalkers

2012-02-09T08:22:00.004-05:00

Authors and Speakers:
Do You List Your Appearance Schedules Online?

This article is being written to all who do, or are planning to do, any type of public speaking engagements. It is based on a negative experience I had several years ago when I lived in New Hampshire. I learned from it, boy did I learn from it! My only hope in writing it, is that I can help other authors and public speakers not to have a similar experience.

I belong to several online social, book and writing, communities. Lately, in several of them I've noticed there is a special place allotted to authors for posting their upcoming appearance schedule and they're encourage to do so. This includes the date, venue, and times, and all are visible to the public.

While I understand the purpose for it and I realize that their intentions are honorable, my future schedule is something I'm very hesitant to post and I would like to caution other authors about doing it. Here is why...

I've had my website, Barking Spiders Poetry, for over twelve years, even before my first book of the same title came out. Once I found a publisher and the book was released to the public, I created a separate page on my website which was dedicated to all of my upcoming book signings, poetry workshops, speaking engagements, interviews, and school visits.

A problem arose quite suddenly and it lasted for a couple of months. Everywhere I went, to any of my speaking engagements or personal appearances, I noticed there was a man who lurked along the sidelines. It didn't matter whether it was at a bookstore signing, a school visit, or eventually, even in a different town. Wherever I went, whatever the event, the same man was somewhere in the room within eyesight, standing and silently watching. At first, I thought he was merely a devoted fan, or maybe a reporter, but when he followed me to another state, I realized something very different. I had a stalker.

Be ultra careful, authors and public speakers. The venue, time and date of your appearances should already be advertised by the school, bookstore, or any other place where you will be appearing, in their town's paper and in the media (TV and radio). I can't caution you enough to be wary of also posting the same information online.

Stalkers stalk you first online. You can never be too careful ...

Best wishes.

CJ

Barking Spiders Poetry

"May you always see the world through the eyes of a child." ~CJ

Who is CJ Heck?

2012-02-04T08:53:00.000-05:00

Who the heck is CJ Heck? You ask.

And then, probably with a bored sigh, you think, "Oh, she writes children's poetry, just like hundreds of other children's poets out there."

This is the Inner CJ.

I'm definitely not like other children's poets "out there". I don't write what I think children should read, or what I think they want to read. My poetry is different -- ask anyone who's familiar with it. It's all written from a child's point of view -- because my own inner child is doing the writing. That inner child is aware of what children think and wonder about in the world around them. What are children frightened of? What do they think is funny, or sad, or puzzling, and what makes them most angry?

I've done a lot of school visits since my first book, "Barking Spiders and Other Such Stuff", was published in 2000. During my presentations, I've always made it a point to read a few of the new poems, those that would someday be in the sequel. I wanted to "try them out" and see if they would fly. Children loved them and they wanted to know when the sequel would be published -- and so did their teachers.

Now, twelve years later, they have their wish ... visit my website, Barking Spiders Poetry, and click on the books. Read a few excerpts from each and you'll see, I'm just not like all the rest.

I love writing poetry of all kinds, but my favorite is, and always will be, poetry for children. There is nothing as powerful as the truth and gentle honesty of a child. They have such an innocent view of the world and their surroundings, sometimes with thought-provoking insight. I love looking at that truthful innocence and writing about it from their point of view.

Besides poetry, you'll see some of my children's stories, tongue twisters and silly poems for children to finish. I offer my books to you on the book store page, autographed and with extras, like bookmarks, stickers, and even a funny doorknob sign for a child's bedroom door.

For schools, there's information about my school visits, a contact page, a bio, articles for writers, marketing and publishing tips, and I've created a special page for my long-time friend, Russell Daily, a gifted children's poet. I had the pleasure of co-writing some poems with Rusty and they're there, as well. There's also a special page for my partner, Robert Cosmar, who's also an author.

So, visit Barking Spiders Poetry. Pull up a chair and get comfy, put a child on your lap, and have a long look. I think you'll be surprised and, just maybe, you'll get reacquainted with your own inner child again.

~Hugs to all,

Heartbeats

2012-01-24T13:00:00.000-05:00

I was thinking this morning about life. I have a cousin who recently passed away and I miss her. She was three years younger than I am. Did you ever think about life? You know, how really tenuous it is. None of us know how long we're here for, or how many beats our heart has.

I wrote a poem about heartbeats years ago. It was written tongue-in-cheek, a little on the silly side I guess, but it rings true in some respects. You just never know, instead of heartbeats, life might be metered in hours. I think it's important that we live it to the fullest.

Heartbeats

Life is so uncertain.

No one knows

how long they have.

What if we're all born with
a predetermined number
of heartbeats
and when they're gone,
we're gone?
Just in case it's true ,
I'm sure not
going to waste mine
running down some road
in silly spandex
pants and a jog bra.
I want to make my
precious beats stretch
to as many years as I can,
especially since at my age,
I've used up so many of them
just getting here.
I'll spread them out,
save them for what's important,
like running away from
something, or someone, bad.
I also intend to use a lot of them
for making love.
If life really is a journey
and not a destination,
I might as well enjoy myself
along the way ...

Books and Book Stores

2012-01-22T09:07:00.002-05:00

Don't you just love book stores? I get all warm and fuzzy when I'm in a book store. It comes from a love for books that began nearly sixty years ago, when mama took us to the children's room of the library for the Saturday morning book readings by Miss Amy.

Even now, I can feel the magic I felt as a child the moment mama opened the heavy library door and herded us into the enormous entrance lobby. With each step up the stairs to the main room, my imagination awoke and filled with eager anticipation. The towering shelves of books rose on either side of me and were visible in any direction I turned. It filled me with such awe and wonder. Stories and adventures were everywhere, and I wanted to hear them all!

Miss Amy always sat in a rocking chair. "The Chosen Book" was in her lap and her hands rested upon it, as she waited for the oval rug in front of her to fill with children. I sat quietly, struggling to contain my growing excitement. What wonderful book had she picked to read that day? Where would the new adventure take me? Would it be sad, or funny, or maybe, even filled with danger? It didn't really matter. I knew I would ride the invisible roller coaster of the author's words anywhere and everywhere for as long as it lasted.

Then, suddenly, it was time. Miss Amy welcomed us to Story Time, as she slowly opened "The Chosen Book". With the very first sentence, I was captured and the magic began. I was no longer me, sitting on a rug in the children's room of the public library. I was living within her words and magically transported in time and space. That's when I knew I wanted to someday, somehow, create that very same wonder and magic in a book.

I finally realized that childhood dream. I am an author. But, magically, I still relive the awesome wonder I knew as a child, when I'm surrounded by books in libraries and stores. In a book store, of course, I have the added advantage of being able to own the books that I love so much.

I've done a lot of school visits, poetry workshops, book fairs, book store signings, and library readings, since being published. I can truly say I know the joy Miss Amy felt, while doing her children's room readings. I've grown addicted to seeing that same magic at work in the faces of today's children as they live within my words.

Oh, and it's always a special treat, when some of the books I'm surrounded by in a book store or library are mine ...

[CJ Heck is the author of four books, which are available through Amazon.com (CreateSpace), Kindle, Nook, and look for it in your favorite book store. For book excerpts, school visits, and more information, please visit Barking Spiders Poetry: http://www.barkingspiderspoetry.com]

One Summer Morning

2012-01-21T08:39:00.000-05:00

Every child uses their imagination. In it, they can be whatever they want to be. The problem is how to remain that way, once we grow up.

I woke up this morning to a snowstorm that must have begun last night, because there are several inches already on the ground. It's pretty, but at my age, I've grown weary of the cold and snow. Southern climates are starting to appeal to me more each year. Anyway, as I was having my coffee, I thought about a hot summer day years ago...

It had been a long, hot, sticky summer. I was driving home from Walmart one morning and already it was promising to be another sweltering day. A few blocks from home, I saw a small homemade lemonade stand that was set up in the grass along the sidewalk. It reminded me of how we used to make bookcases, back in the late 60's, to hold a stereo system. It consisted of two cinder blocks piled one on top of the other at each end, with a wide board laying across the top.

A large hand printed sign was taped to the front of the board and hanging down. It was perfect for the little stand, printed in crooked capital letters with crayon -- even the 'N's" and "E's" in the word LEMONADE were printed backwards, which added to the mystique. It was so adorable, I just couldn't resist. I parked my car and bought a glass for fifteen cents and told them they could keep the change from my quarter.

Jacob, (8), and Sissy, (6), took their business very seriously. With loving teamwork, Sissy held the plastic cup, while Jacob poured in the lemonade from the pitcher. Playing my part as a satisfied customer, I drank ALL of my lemonade -- even though there wasn't NEARLY enough sugar in it.

I couldn't stop thinking about the little lemonade stand and its entrepreneurs. There was a poem in there, somewhere, and I eventually gave my imagination free reign. Here it is, and there's a special little twist at the end.

The Lemonade Stand
(from the book, "Barking Spiders 2")
by CJ Heck

Get your ice cold glass of lemonade!
Hurry, 'fore it's gone.
We made it just this morning.
See the table that it's on?

We promise that you'll like it
and there's sugar in it, too --
not like it was the other day
when mom and dad said "Ewwwww."

Get your ice cold glass of lemonade!
Boy, grownups sure are funny --
they smile a lot at little kids
who are trying to make money.

Thank you, ma'am, and thank you, sir,
you've helped us out a bunch.
Sissy, let's go make some more.
It's almost time for lunch.

Get your ice cold glass of lemonade!
Only fifteen cents a glass!
We've got to make more money
and we've got to make it fast.

Daddy said it wouldn't work,
that people wouldn't stop.
They'd hurry right on past us
and then they'd laugh a lot.

One last glass of lemonade!
This was so much fun!
Let's get this table put away
and then we've got to run.

Sissy look ... it's snowing!
But that will be all right.
Now we have money for presents
'cause Santa Claus comes tonight.

Oh, and even thinking about that summer day, my cheeks still ache from the lemon-sour pucker.

Chuck Wendig on Writing

2012-01-17T07:31:00.002-05:00

I came across this article today and I want to share it with every writer out there. It's a bit graphic, at times, but I guarantee that it'll bring a smile, an outright laugh, make you think, and it will make you look at the craft of writing in new ways. It did for me.

I've only cited five here, but I guarantee, the rest are worth your time, as well! To read the entire article, please visit Chuck Wendig's Blog.

Enjoy!

About the Author:

Chuck Wendig is equal parts novelist, screenwriter, and game designer. He is the author of the novels DOUBLE DEAD, BLACKBIRDS, and MOCKINGBIRD. In addition, he's got a metric boatload of writing-related e-books available, including the popular 500 WAYS TO BE A BETTER WRITER. He currently lives in the wilds of Pennsyltucky with wife, dog, and newborn progeny.

25 Things Writers Should Start Doing (ASAFP):

1. Start Taking Yourself Seriously
This is a real thing, this writing thing, if you let it be. It’s not just about money or publication — it’s about telling the kind of stories only you can tell. Few others are going to take you seriously, so give them a 21-middle-finger-salute and do for yourself what they won’t: demonstrate some self-respect.

2. Start Taking the Time
Said it before, will say it again: we all get 24 hours in our day. Nobody has extra time. You must claim time for yourself and your writing. Time is a beast stampeding ever forward and we’re all on its back. Don’t get taken for a ride. Grab the reins. Whip that nag to go where you want her to go. Take control. Hell, pull out a big ol’ electric knife and carve off a quivering lardon of fatty Time Bacon all for yourself. (As a sidenote, the Germans had a name for that phenomenon: Zeitspeck. True story I just made up!)

3. Start Trying New Stuff
Branch out. Get brave. Look at all the ways you write now — “I write in the morning, sipping from my 64-ounce 7-11 Thirst Aborter of Mountain Dew, and I pen my second-person POV erotic spy novels and it earns me a comfortable living.” Good for you. Now punch that shit right in the ear. Okay, I’m not saying you need to change directions entirely — what kind of advice is that? “Hey, that thing that works for you? Quit doing it.” I’m just saying, mix it up. Make some occasional adjustments. Just as I exhort people to try new foods or travel destinations or ancient Sumerian sexual positions, I suggest writers try new things to see if they can add them to their repertoire. Write 1000 words a day? Try to double that. Don’t use an outline? Write with one, just once. Single POV character? Play with an ensemble. Mix it the fuck up. Don’t have just One True Way of doing things. Get crazy. Don’t merely think outside of the box. Set the box adrift on a river and shoot it with fire arrows. Give the box a motherfucking Viking funeral.

4. Start Telling Stories in New Ways
Another entry from the “Set The Box On Fire” Department — with the almost obscene advances in personal technology (the smartphone alone has become more versatile than most home computers), it’s time to start thinking about how we can tell stories in new ways. A story needn’t be contained to a book or a screen. A story can be broken apart. A story can travel. Your tale can live across Twitter and Foursquare and Tumblr and an Android app and Flickr and HTML5 and then it can take the leap away from technology and move to handwritten journals and art installations and bathroom walls and — well, you get the idea. Let this be the year that the individual author need no longer be constrained by a single medium. Transmedia is now in the hands of individuals. So give it a little squeeze, and find new ways to tell old stories.

5. Start Reading Poetry
Poetry? Yes, poetry. I know. I see that look you’re giving me. “What’s next, Wendig?” you ask. “We all hold hands and dance around the maypole in our frilly blouses and Wonder Woman underoos?” YES EXACTLY. I mean — uhh, what? No. Ahem. All I’m saying is, all writing deserves a touch — just a tickle — of poetry. And do not conflate “poetry” with “purple prose” — such bloated artifice has no room in your work.

Now, do yourself a favor and go to Chuck's blog and read the rest!
CJ

Made Up Words: Child-Speak

2011-12-31T09:17:00.001-05:00

I miss the days when my three daughters were children. Now don't get me wrong, we have a great relationship now that they're women and raising their own children. I wouldn't change a thing. It's just that sometimes, I miss all of the little things they did and said in their innocent exuberance for life.

One thing I used to get a kick out of is how they created their own words for things they didn't know the real word for. I call it, child-speak. I remember once overhearing a conversation between Carrie, my oldest, and Heather, the youngest. They were watching TV together on the couch. Carrie asked Heather if she would tickle her back for awhile. Heather said she would, IF she could borrow a "clo" from Carrie. Carrie was all right with that. She seemed to know just what Heather was asking, because she said, "Okay".

Whatever a "clo" was, they had made an equally beneficial barter and both girls were satisfied. The more I thought about it, the more curious I became, until finally, "Girls? What is a clo?"

Carrie matter of factly stated, "A clo is a clo, mom. You can have a LOT of clothes, but just ONE of them is a clo."

Hmmm ... how stupid of me.

I'll give you another example of child-speak. Sesame Street had this little animated typewriter guy who had a face. He was nearly always on the word segment of the show. He had this little song-sound he made every time he wheeled to the left or right across the TV screen, "Noo-Nee Noo-Noo", or something similar to that. But I digress … when this happened, I hadn't seen him yet.

Anyway, we were all in the car headed to the library one day and a tiny foreign car pulled up beside us at a red light. One of the girls pointed to it and yelled out, "Hey, you guys, look! A Noo-Noo car!" The other two understood perfectly and they were all excited. As I said, I had never seen the little typewriter guy on Sesame Street, so again I had to ask.

What follows now is yet another child-speak word. This was the direct result of one rainy Saturday afternoon, three imaginative and highly inventive little girls that had to play inside:

"Permagosh"
(from the book, "Barking Spiders 2)

Mommy's on the couch.
Daddy's in his chair.
I'm in a corner on a stool ...
yeah, they put me here

'cause I did somethin' naughty
that I'm not supposed to do.
I invented Permagosh
mixing things with their shampoo.

First a real long worm of toothpaste,
then a cloud of shaving cream,
then two glugs of mouthwash
('cause I love the color green).

I stirred it in a mixing bowl.
Boy it smelled real good!
It was even looking better
than I ever thought it would!

Could it be a cure for cancer?
Take the itch from skeeter bites?
Or maybe, heal a sunburn
when it hurts to sleep at night?

Two shakes of baby powder
made it WAY too hard to stir,
so I added Mommy's perfume.
Permagosh smelled just like HER!

Eww ... then the bowl tipped over.
Permagosh was on the floor
and when I turned around,
my mom was by the door.

Now mommy's on the couch.
Daddy's in his chair.
I'm in a corner on a stool ...
yeah, they put me here.

Enjoy your Saturday, my friends. I know I will.
~Hugs, CJ

New Year 2012

2011-12-30T12:58:00.000-05:00

Wow! We only have a couple of days left in 2011. It's hard to believe another year has come and (almost) gone. Personally, I hate to see it go -- I didn't have a problem with 2011, did you?

I've been thinking about all the years I've seen come and go. Each of them was good. Some were actually great. I can't really remember any years that were only so-so. Come to think of it, I don't think I ever lived in a year that I wished was over. It's just like what Forrest Gump said in the movie. "Life is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you're gonna get."

I believe I've touched on what excites me about another new year -- the surprise of it all. Of course, it would be nice to have a crystal ball. In 2012, will I sell five million books? Will I finally be rich and famous? I'll just have to wait and see ...

So, come Saturday night, I'll pour myself and Robert a glass of bubbly to greet another new year ... too bad we'll probably be asleep on the couch by the time midnight arrives.

Happy New Year!

Senior Christmas Poem

2011-12-19T08:29:00.000-05:00

I'm NOT making fun of seniors ... I AM a senior ...

A SENIOR CHRISTMAS POEM
~Author Unknown~

T'was the night before Christmas at Rock-A-Way Rest,
and all of us seniors were looking our best.
Our glasses, how sparkly, our smiles, oh how merry;
our punch bowl held prune juice, plus three drops of sherry.

Support hose were taped to our walkers in hope,
that Santa would bring us soft candies and soap.
We surely were lucky to be there with friends,
secure in our residence and our Depends.

Some of our grandkids sent Christmassy crafts,
like angels in snowsuits or penguins on rafts.
The dental assistant here borrowed our teeth.
From them she crafted our holiday wreath.

The bed pans, so shiny, all stood in a row,
reflecting our candles in a magnificent glow.
Our supper was festive, the joy wouldn't stop,
with creamy warm oatmeal with sprinkles on top.

Fruit salad with Jello, all jiggly and great,
and puree of fruitcake was spooned on each plate.
The social director then let us play games,
like "Where do You Live?" and "What Are Your Names?"

Old Mr. Looper was feeling his oats,
proclaiming that reindeer were just fancy goats.
Our resident wanderer was tied to her chair,
with hopes that at bedtime she still would be there.

Security lights on the new fallen snow
made night look like day to us old folks below.
Then out on the porch there arose quite a clatter
(But we're all so deaf that it just didn't matter).

A strange little fellow then flew through the door.
He tripped on the sill and fell flat on the floor.
T'was just the director, all togged out in red,
who giggled and chuckled and patted each head.

We knew from the way that he strutted and jived
that our social security checks had arrived.
We sang and we hummed in our monotone croak,
till finally the clock chimed its 8 p.m. stroke.

And soon we were snuggled again in our beds,
while the nurses distributed our nocturnal meds.
And so ends our Christmas at Rock-A-Way Rest.
'fore long you'll be with us ... we wish you the best!

Christmas Morning

2011-12-18T08:28:00.000-05:00

A scene that will be played out in thousands of homes next weekend ... hugs to all and a Merry Christmas! ~CJ

(Yawn ... s t r e t c h ... yawn ... scratch-scratch) Jumping out of bed with a sudden realization ...

"(poke-poke) Claud? You up? Wake up, it's Christmas." (poke-poke)

"(loud yawn) (stretch-s t r e t c h) Stop poking ... I'm up. You sure Santa was here?"

"I think so. Let's go see. Shhhhh, we gotta be quiet. Don't wake anybody up ... not yet. We have to see if he came, first. Then we'll wake 'em up."

(stairs creaking) (tip-toe - tip-toe - c r e a k - tip-toe - c r e a k)

"He came. He came!"

"He did? Let's go tell them!"

"Shhhhh, wait. Can you see anything, Claud? Can you see what he brought?"

"Nope. It's too dark. But I can see presents under the tree! I can see the puffy stockings and there's stuff sticking out of 'em! C'mon, Cath'. Let's go get 'em up!"

(creak-creak) (tip-toe, tip-toe, tip-toe) (creak-creak) (tip-toe, tip-toe) (creak-creak)

(pitter-patter, pitter-patter, pitter-patter)

(doorknob turning)

"Bill! It's Christmas and Santa was here. Get up ... shhhhh."

(pitter-patter, pitter-patter, pitter-patter)

(doorknob turning)

(nudge) "Timmy, wake up. Santa came." (nudge-nudge)

(yawn) "I'm up ... stop that."

(poke-poke) "Chippy, chippy? Wake up. Santa was here. It's Christmas!"

"Don't poke. I'm awake, I'm up."

"Shhhh, where's Shari? She's not in her crib."

"She ... she's prob'ly sleeping with mommy and daddy. She has a cold."

"Everybody, c'mon. Let's go get mommy and daddy up!"

"In a minute. I gotta pee."

"Me too!"

"Me too!"

"Me too!

(door opening, closing, opening, closing, opening, closing, opening)

(feet shuffling in the hall) (pitter-patter, pitter-patter, pitter-patter)

(doorknob turning)

(squeaky hinges)

"Mommy-Daddy, Merry Christmas! Wake up, Santa Came! Wake up!"

A Grandson at Christmas

2011-12-17T06:45:00.000-05:00

Just a few more days and Christmas will be here. Like everyone else, I've been busy shopping, wrapping and baking, and then there's always so much last minute stuff to do -- for instance, I'm still shopping for Robert. He's pretty tight-lipped this year when I ask him for ideas. He says all he wants for Christmas is me -- and while that's lovely and very romantic, I still want to find the perfect gift for him.

I'm thinking about a phone call I received from one of my grandsons, who was six at the time. He happily told me how excited he was about Christmas and then he asked me what I thought Santa Claus was doing right now. In the spirit of the season, I turned his question around and asked him what HE thought Santa might be doing right now ...

Without any hesitation at all, he answered, "That's easy, Gram! Santa is prob’ly practicing his HO-HO-HO’s while he’s polishing his sleigh and taking care of the reindeer. I think Rudolph is getting ready to lead all the others and his nose is already shiny and red. The elves are prob’ly busy packing the toys into Santa’s big red bag." Then he told me, "Ya know, Grammy, even if the elves wake up at the same time the sun does in the morning, it will still take them the whole week to get all the toys loaded in the sleigh!"

He continued, "The elves are prob’ly running around cleaning up the workshop because pretty soon, they have to start making toys for NEXT Christmas! Some of them are prob’ly even reading late wish lists from kids all over the place, and deciding if they should tattle and tell Santa which kids were naughty -- but maybe they won‘t ‘cause tattling isn‘t nice."

I had to laugh when he said, "Mrs. Claus has prob’ly been cooking all week. It just wouldn’t be good to have a bony Santa. You know, just in case someone peeks when he comes down the chimney. She's baking lots of stuff for Santa’s trip, and even putting some carrots in a baggy for the reindeer in case they get hungry on the way. And everybody KNOWS Santa gets cookies and milk from kids at the houses where he goes, too, so that will keep him fat."

He then told me that the very last thing Mrs. Claus will still have to do is make sure Santa’s red suit is clean and his boots all shined up. Then on the last night before Christmas Eve, Santa will go to bed early ‘cause everyone has a busy night Christmas Eve.

I asked him then if he could remember why we gave and got presents at Christmas. He said, “Sure, Grammy. It’s ‘cause God let His little boy, Jesus, be born on Christmas. See, we can’t give Him birthday presents ‘cause now He lives up in heaven with God again, so they invented Santa Claus to give Jesus’ presents to all of the kids. Then ... I don’t know when, but then Santa Claus became real.”

“How do you know Santa Claus is real?” I asked him.

“Grammy, if he wasn’t real, how come we can write letters to him? How come we can sit on his lap and talk to him? It’s just something kids know. Then we go to church and thank God for giving us Jesus and for giving us His presents.”

Then my daughter called him to the dinner table, so we shared “I love you’s” and said "goodbye".

After I hung up the phone, I smiled … I really needed that. I'd been so busy with everything that I had lost sight of the important things. As warm and fuzzy as it all can be, I had always gotten a little melancholy at Christmas. After the enormous build up, it was always over so quickly, about as long as it took the little ones to unwrap what it took us weeks to buy and wrap.

When I look at Christmas through a child‘s eyes, I remember the awe, the wonder and the ... magic. And it isn’t really all that bad, believing in Santa Claus. It’s pretend, yes, but pretending is such a huge part of childhood. It’s practice for growing up and, like Christmas, childhood is also over before you know it. But as long as our children understand the true reason behind Christmas, the belief in Santa is harmless -- and it brings such joy to children.

As I sit here this morning wrapping another gift, I can't help thinking about what my grandson told me. It really is true. This present really is a birthday gift -- I so wish I could have given it to the Baby Jesus ...

As for Santa Claus ... I still believe. Maybe I'll even let him decide what to bring Robert for Christmas ...

Christmas Trees

2011-12-16T09:52:00.000-05:00

I have a small rant today. Robert and I have been searching the whole town for a REAL Christmas Tree for a week now and we can't find a single parking lot anywhere where real Christmas trees are for sale. We find that so totally strange.

There used to be Christmas tree lots everywhere. The boy scouts sold them, and the fire department did, too. Even the local high school used to sell Christmas trees as a fund raiser. You could spot the lots easily, too, with long strings of colored lights strung high overhead, all the way around the lot and visible from a block away.

I remember when I was a child, Daddy would pile us all into the station wagon and, like they did in the movie "Christmas Vacation" with Chevy Chase, we would head out into the country to cut down our tree. But it was so much more than just cutting down a Christmas tree. It was a tradition in my family and it kicked off our whole holiday spirit. While Daddy was putting the lights on the tree, we wrote our letters to Santa. Then, that done, everyone helped to decorate the aromatic pine with decorations.

Is the lack of real Christmas trees because everyone is buying fake trees these days? I suppose fake trees are okay ... for some people. They sure look real, not like the yucky spindly ones that first came out years ago. I hear tell they even come with lights already attached, too.

(shaking my head) Nope, that's not for me. I'm just NOT buying a fake tree, and if I have to drive to other towns, I WILL find a Christmas tree lot selling REAL Christmas trees. I would miss the smell of pine and besides, I love tradition. No wonder I never want to grow up ...

Dear Santa Claus...

2011-12-15T06:06:00.000-05:00

Dear Santa ...

by CJ Heck

You always bring me many things,

my little sister, too,

things we love to play with

and so many things to do.

I see you in big limos

waving at us in parades.

I see you in the shopping malls

and even in arcades.

I see you on the corners

where you're ringing little bells.

I see you talking on TV

advertising big hotels.

It causes me to wonder

if you're really really there,

or are you just too busy

with all those things to care?

See, I have a best friend, Tommy,

and I'm sending his address

so this year you won't miss his house,

'cause Tommy, he's the best.

Please, Santa, take some time off

from those other things you do

and this year, visit Tommy's house?

He needs some presents, too.

[from the book, "Barking Spiders (and Other Such Stuff)", 2000, by CJ Heck]

The Christmas Miracle

2011-12-14T08:54:00.000-05:00

A Short Story
by CJ Heck

The storm had begun last evening just after dark with gentle flurries. Now in the early morning hours before dawn, it was snowing like a son-of-a-bitch. Jake Simons pulled his collar up as high as it would go, hoping to shrink the opening enough that it was less inviting to wayward flakes. "Never mind," he thought, "never you mind. It's winter, it's snowing, and it is what it is."

This morning, like every morning, snow or no snow, Jake walked the tracks, picking up rogue coal jostled from the railroad cars bouncing along the tracks. It couldn't buy food, but each shiny black lump was precious and it went a long way to keep his family warm in these tough times. The heavy snow seemed to punctuate just how hard things were -- and how bad they could still get.

As he walked, he pushed the snow away with his boot. The coal was nearly impossible to see and, with each step, his heart grew heavier, knowing his pockets were nearly empty. How in the world had things ever have gotten so bad?

It was only days before Christmas, and Jake still hadn't found any work. "Children shouldn't have to grow up this fast." Jake said aloud into the dark, while the wind gobbled each word as it was spoken. "In their innocent dreams, Santa is in the North Pole and his elves still make toys to deliver by sleigh on Christmas Eve -- even now in the Great Depression."

Jake's oldest delivered groceries and stocked shelves for Burt down at the market on Tuesdays, while Tommy, the middle child, had a paper route. Even Dotty, his wife, had a job one day a week cleaning for Annie Parker. Her husband owned the town's mill. Jeb Parker did what he could, hiring for a day here, a day there, but few needed what the mill produced, so even Jeb was on hard times. And Sarah, sweet Sarah, was only two years old. This was all she had ever known. How he wished he could make everything better.

Hours later, Jake had reached his lowest point yet. It was dark and snowing even harder, as if that was possible. All day long, Jake had stood in the growing lines for the few jobs that were available, but there were always more men than jobs. Overcome by exhaustion and grief, he sat down hard on the curb, his feet planted in the freezing slush below. With his head in his hands, he fought back unwelcome tears. Jake's spirit was broken and he felt so defeated.

Blinking through tears of resolve, Jake prayed for his immortal soul. "God, help me, I'm worth more dead, than alive." Then, with his service revolver pointed at the roof of his mouth, he suddenly noticed something half buried in the slush between his feet. In quiet disbelief, he slowly reached down and picked up a wet and crumpled fifty dollar bill ...

Christmas at Mel's

2011-12-13T09:30:00.002-05:00

A Short-Short Story
(from the book, "Bits and Pieces", October 2011)
by CJ Heck

A broken neon sign flashed "Mel’s" atop a small darkened bar on the edge of town. The air was heavy with stale smoke and beer, blending faintly with the odor of dried spit on unclean bodies.

Sadie sat at a small table alone pondering the world and its problems, two drinks past actually seeing beyond the unkempt nails she drummed nervously on the chipped Formica in front of her. The lines in her face were knit as if by a palsied hand dropping stitches here and there where a pox scar decided to roost.

For Sadie, this was home -- at least until tonight’s john, with an empty glass and full libido, swaggered up and invited her to the nearest no-tell motel. Life sucks, but it was her life. Feeling in control, a spider in her web, she threw back another drink and waited.

The hours passed and Sadie now slumped in the chair at her favorite table at Mel's. With each drink, the world's problems faded further, until she was only mildly conscious that she had more than enough of her own. Merry Christmas. Yeah, yeah, so what? she asked indignantly into the air.

Sadie slowly counted the empty glasses lined up in front of her on the table. Seven. Nice. Rhymes with heaven. How 'bout that -- as if I'll ever be there. They prob'ly don't let people like me in a ritzy place like that. Sadie pushed the thought away. She studied the half empty glass that was still in her hand with the same intensity a demented gypsy might, upon watching her favorite crystal ball suddenly deflate right before her eyes.

Tired, the lines in her face met in an intricate pattern just above her penciled brows as she pondered her situation through the booze fog. Damn Mel. Damn his twinkle lights. Damn things hurt my eyes. Fuckin' barkeep, why'd he have to put twinkle lights in here ... as if anyone wants to see the graffiti better, she cackled to herself. Sadie watched as the room with its new holiday lights blinked, first red, then green, then yellow through the gently swirling smoke. She threw back the rest of her drink. It made her want to puke, that's what it did.

Who the hell cares if it's Christmas Eve? Every day's the same to me, she thought. I'm just a workin' woman tryin' to make a buck. Bad enough, everywhere you go, bells are ringin' on every corner, music blastin' outta radios, snow and slush in every step you take, and all that fancy decoratin' to remind you, you're fuckin' alone. Merry Christmas ... yeah, Mer-ry Christ-my-ass! Cash registers are ringin' big time, too, Sadie thought, with a bitter smile.

Damn, business was slow this time of year. Every john she knew was prob'ly home playing Santy Claus with the kiddies and Husband Of The Year with the wife. What a joke, she thought. What they really want, I give 'em. What they really need, I give 'em. They're all the same. What a fuckin' joke, she thought ... yeah, only the joke's on me. I'm the one who's sittin' and waitin' in a blinkin-stinkin' hellhole all by m'self.

Sadie set empty glass number eight at the end of the line on the table and raised a finger at the barkeep for another drink. Waiting was a bitch ... just then, a shadow fell through the swirling smoke to settle eerily on Sadie's table. It was strangely blinking in mixed colors through the empty glasses in front of her. Surprised, she looked up to see one of her regulars standing there. Finally, she thought to herself, and 'bout time, too. Already a plan had formed in her mind to do him fast and then get some shut-eye. She gave the john her best crimson smile.

The man leaned down and handed Sadie a folded bill. With a sad smile he said, "Go home, Sadie. This one's on me, and ... and well, M-Merry Christmas to you." Then he turned and walked back through the swirled and blinking smoke to the door and back out to the street with Sadie staring slack-jawed at the door closing slowly behind him.

Damn, if that don't beat all, Sadie thought, as she unfolded the fifty dollar bill. Then she scooted her chair back, pushed herself away from the table, and for the first time in years, Sadie's face softened into a genuine smile.

How beautiful a day can be when kindness touches it. ~George Elliston

Coshocton Tribune Interview

2011-12-02T05:03:00.000-05:00

Coshocton Natives Find Common Ground with Writing ...
7:21 AM, Dec. 1, 2011

Coshocton Tribune
Coshocton, Ohio 43812

Written by
Leonard Hayhurst
Staff Writer

COSHOCTON -- Two childhood friends from Coshocton now are sharing their lives and their literary talents with the world.

Coshocton natives Catherine Parrish, who writes as C.J. Heck, and Robert Cosmar got reacquainted two years ago during a multi-class reunion for graduates of Coshocton High School that Cosmar organized. Although they were two years apart in school, they said they can't really remember talking or seeing each other since they were young kids, almost 50 years before.

"We were often thrown together as a group of kids," Parrish said. "(Cosmar) said he didn't remember me at all in high school, although I'm sure we passed in the halls, but he said 'my last memory of you as a child is you sitting beside me in the back seat of my parents' car. I was about 9 years old, and you were about 11. I remember looking over and seeing those blues eyes and thinking 'oh my God, it's a girl.'" He said he never forgot those blues eyes.

Parrish received an email from Cosmar sent by another classmate about the reunion and from there, they began writing back and forth. A rekindled friendship flamed into love, and Cosmar eventually moved from Coshocton to be with Parrish in DuBois, Pa.

"We're motivating and stimulating each other to grow and more fully express who we are," Cosmar said. "We do what we love to do, which is basically write and share stories."

Cosmar knew Parrish was a children's author, and the two often would talk about writing and literature. Shortly after getting together, Cosmar mentioned he had written three short unpublished stories about 20 years ago. Parrish said she asked to read them and was impressed immediately by their quality.
"I demanded, 'Why haven't you published these? They're wonderful!' He answered, 'Who'd want to read those? They're so old,'" Parrish recalled.

Parrish offered encouragement and editing, which resulted in Cosmar publishing his first book, "Trilogy of Awareness" in September, 2011.

Cosmar describes the book as one meant to inspire imaginations. One story deals with a banished alien prince; another tells of a middle-aged man, lost in life, who is whisked to a parallel dimension, and the final tale is about the ghost of Jimi Hendrix aiding young guitarists at a music camp near Woodstock.

"My stories are allegories. On one level, they're like your 'Twilight Zone,' Rod Serling-type stories. They present a platform that's very obvious and understandable that applies to life in general, maybe your situation or someone else's situation, but somewhere in it, it takes you to a place of awareness and that's why it's called 'Trilogy of Awareness,'" he said.

Parrish has published four books since 2000, the most recent being a collection of short stories and flash fiction entitled "Bits and Pieces from a Writer's Soul" and "Me Too! Preschool Poetry," both in September. Her newest book "Barking Spiders 2," a sequel to her "Barking Spiders and Other Such Stuff (2000)," has been nominated for the 2011 Cybils Children's Book Award in the poetry category.

Parrish said much of what she writes about comes from her children or from her childhood in Coshocton. Although she can't remember her teacher's name, Parrish never will forget how a fourth-grade teacher at Washington Elementary School encouraged her to write poetry as part of the class. She said she and Cosmar still have friends and family in the Coshocton area and visit often.

"We had such a wonderful childhood living (in Coshocton)," Parrish said. "We could go anywhere. It's not like today where (parents) are afraid to let their kids go out alone. I remember walking down Main Street up to Elm Street by the hospital and (Cosmar) remembers the same thing. We'd play outside until dark, and nobody worried about us. We loved Coshocton growing up. It's such a wonderful, wonderful town."

llhayhur@coshoctontribune.com; (740) 295-3417

Dear ...

2011-12-01T07:16:00.000-05:00

Dear Rain,
Please go away. It's the first of December. How can I think Christmas without the white stuff you can so easily become?

Dear Santa,
Christmas seems to arrive a week earlier each year, as the decorations since Halloween attest. Do you have your elves working earlier, as well?

Dear Freshly-laundered Bed,
I shall dream of you all the day long.

Dear Newly Clean Duplex,
Never let yourself go. You are so worth it and I love you.

Dear Hair,
Let's find a conditioner and shampoo that work well together and stick with it.

Dear Robert,
I adore you. Please never change. Your kisses make my whole world go round.

Dear Universe,
Please help my books sell and send people to my new website. It's awful, feeling invisible ...

Dear Family,
I love you all and wish we lived closer. I have a mountain of hugs to share.

With Love,
Me

A Treasure in the Attic

2011-11-14T10:26:00.000-05:00

A Treasure in the Attic
by CJ Heck

There's magic in an attic
when you're patient enough
to wade through
the spiderwebs and dust
to discover it.
I found a picture of Mama there
in an old camelback trunk
crowded with forgotten relatives
pressed in albums,
between dried rose bouquets,
and size six shoe boxes
hiding old love letters
bound in faded ribbon.
How I wish I had known her then --
young and pretty,
living in a world
filled with Daddy,
before children and cancer.
The photo was crackled,
its corners dog-earred,
but there she was.
A bandana tied round her head
almost held the whispy curls
reaching for freedom
in an ocean breeze,
pants rolled up mid-calf,
cuffs barely skimming the water,
she looked so happy.
And from a trunk in the attic
I unearthed a treasure,
a love that had shaped me
throughout my life.
How terribly I miss her.

Lunch with Friends

2011-11-13T10:53:00.000-05:00

This came to me today from a friend that I value very much. After you read this, I think you'll understand ...

"One day I had lunch with some friends. Bob, a short, balding golfer-type about 69 years old, came along with them. All in all, it was a pleasant bunch.

When the menus were presented, we ordered salads, sandwiches, and soups, all except for Bob who said, "Ice Cream, please -- two scoops, both of them chocolate."

At first, I wasn't sure my ears heard him right, and the others were aghast, as well. "Oh, and along with some heated apple pie." Bob added, completely unabashed.

We tried to act quite nonchalant, as if people did this all the time. But when our orders were brought out, I found that I didn't enjoy mine. I couldn't take my eyes off Bob as his pie a-la-mode went down. I noticed that the other guys couldn't believe it either. They ate their lunches silently and grinned suspiciously.

The next time I went out to eat, I called and invited Bob. I lunched on white meat tuna and whole grain bread. He ordered a parfait. when I smiled, he asked if he amused me. I answered, "Yes, you do, but also you confuse me. How come you order rich desserts for lunch, while I feel I must be sensible?"

Bob laughed and explained, "I'm tasting all that is possible. I try to eat the foods I need, and I do the things that I should do so I'll be healthy, but listen, life's so short, my friend! I hate missing out on something good. This year I realized how old I was." He smiled, thoughtfully. "I haven't ever been this old before.

Before I die, I've decided to try those things I had always ignored. I haven't smelled all the flowers yet; there are trout streams I haven't fished; there are more hot fudge sundaes to wolf down and kites to be flown over my head in the wind. There are too many golf courses I haven't played, and I've not laughed at all the jokes yet. Oh, and I've missed a lot of sporting events ... and potato chips ... and cokes.

I want to wade barefoot again in puddles and feel the ocean spray on my face. I want to sit in a country church one more time and thank God for everything. I want peanut butter spread every day on my morning toast; I want un-timed long distance calls to all the folks I love the most.

I haven't cried at all the movies yet, or walked in the morning rain. I need to feel wind on my face, and I want to be in love again. So, my friend, if I choose to have the dessert, instead of having dinner, then if I die before night fall, I'll be able to say I died a winner, because I missed out on nothing. I filled my heart's desire. I had that final chocolate mousse before my life expired. I would die a happy man."

With that, I called the waitress over. "S'cuse me, Ma'am. I've changed my mind. I want what he's having -- only add even more whipped cream!"

This is my gift to you -- let's make this our annual Friends Day. The rest of the year, we'll live well, love much and laugh often -- in other words, we'll be happy. And we have to be mindful that happiness isn't based on possessions, power, or prestige. It's all about relationships with the people we like and love and respect.

Money might talk, but chocolate ice cream sings ...

Thank you, Craig Latham! Many hugs, my friend.
CJ

Back Links

2011-11-08T11:09:00.000-05:00

For the past several weeks, I've been busy working on rebuilding my website. I've had the same website URL for twelve years, and it has served me well, even though it recently survived a near catastrophe.

Two years ago, a German web designer by the name of Cedrik contacted me. He told me he was learning flash design and looking for an American website, one that was in need of sprucing up, to learn flash design on. Someone gave him my name and email address. He took one look at my website and told me, "Katy (this is how he pronounced Cathy), your website is so old! But, you have many, many back links -- I don't know how you have so many back links because your website is very bad!" Then he said if I would allow him to work on it, redesign it in flash, it would be a website I would be proud of.

I asked him how much this would cost, since my pockets weren't very deep. His answer was ... "Katy, this will be free, because I will be learning. I want to be good flash designer in America." I decided "free" worked, but only because Cedrik was treating it like a project to learn from, and because he insisted that it must be free. His only stipulation was, that I was to tell no one it was free because if he got business in the States because of it, he would charge them a fee. That again seemed to make sense and I agreed.

We used Skype to communicate. Surprisingly, Cedrik had a reasonable grasp of English, but I knew only a smattering of German. During the redesign, we butted heads a lot, mostly over things I felt were necessary to keep in the website, like my AdSense ads, for instance. I was receiving about $100/month in income from the ads. Cedrik adamantly refused to put ads on the new website. I couldn't seem to make him understand, that was $1200 a year he was simply throwing away. After arguing about it for a week, I begrudgingly went along because after all, he was not charging me.

Cedrik then said my link pages were gone, as well. That point I argued vehemently. It had taken me eleven years to build my link pages. He was so angry that he disappeared for a week, so I also had to concede that issue. He just didn't understand. I talked it over with Robert and we decided those were all things I could add again later, once the website was finished.

The day finally arrived when the flashy flash website went public -- it truly was a work of art. Within a couple of months, the website had even won two awards for its design. I was thrilled for Cedrik. He had made his mark in America. Then the proverbial crap hit the fan. I did a couple of new school visits, and when I went into my website manager, I found I was unable to add the schools or any corrections to my website.

I contacted Cedrik, who told me he would change my website to the new html 5, which would allow me to make changes myself. He also talked about adding another page to the website, one I had asked him to add for a poet friend's work. Weeks passed, and then months, and I was unable to contact him. I had more school visits I needed to add to update my references and I was unable to access my website manager.

When I finally talked with Cedrik, he informed me that he was now too busy to change it to html 5. However, if I would like to retain him to build me a new website, one that was in html 5, he would put me on the waiting list -- but he would charge me for the new one. I asked why he hadn't told me this flash website would be something I could never make changes to. I reminded him that he promised he would change it to html 5. Nothing I said made a difference. I had no choice but to trash everything and start over ...

I am actively looking for children's writers, authors, schools, librarians, teachers, literally anyone with a valuable link or resource to exchange links with me. If you're interested, please contact me, either through an email or a comment on this blog. Thank you so much!

CJ's Barking Spiders Poetry Website

... oh, and do yourself a favor. If a web designer named Cedrik, from CJ Design, contacts you ... don't walk away. RUN.

Book News!

2011-11-05T08:32:00.000-04:00

News! (a little shamless plug)

"Barking Spiders 2", (October 2011) was nominated for the 2011 Cybils Children's Book Award in Poetry!

Finalists to be announced January 1, 2012, the winner February 14, 2012.

Barking Spiders 2 at Amazon.com

Reviews:

Fun for your child and you:
"In this follow up to her popular first book, Barking Spiders and other Such Stuff, CJ cultivates and enriches the innocent spirit within us all. As you read to a child, a parent is transported in heart and feelings to the simpler and more innocent time of youth. The two hearts bridge the gap of age and meet in the middle, where heart and soul are eternally young." ~Magic Man
__________________

"We all know, the mind of a child is something we'll never fully understand. However, CJ Heck has written three books that prove she is the master of a child's illogical, logic, a child's innocence, their unfiltered honesty and boundless love.

Barking Spiders, Barking Spiders 2, and Me Too! Pre-school Poetry all sit on my bookshelf waiting for me to read to my grandchildren. If a child has thought about it, CJ has written about it. No matter how many times I read CJ's poetry, I am amazed at how well it correlates to watching the antics of my children and grandchildren.

The good news is that us grown-ups enjoy CJ's writing as much as the children do. Enjoy the laughter, wonder and joy of a child. Read CJ Heck." ~Russell Daily

Rules

2011-11-04T08:39:00.000-04:00

I remember one of the hardest things about being a child was learning the rules of growing up. To a kid, things were always black or white, good or bad, and right or wrong. The way I learned best was by listening to and minding my parents, yes, but I also I learned by testing the very rules they imposed, and then finding out that there were consequences. I spent a lot of time thinking about rules in the "naughty chair" ...

From a child's vantage point, grownups had it easy. They could stay up as late as they wanted. They didn't have to go to school every day and sit in a classroom. They could do anything they wanted to do and, most important, they held the key to just about everything in a kid's life, too -- what they should eat and when; what they should wear; where they could go; when to come inside; when to take a bath; when to go to bed; when they should get up; when to pick up toys or clean their room; even what they could watch on TV.

Growing up couldn't come fast enough. I could hardly wait not to have any more rules ...

Rules
by CJ Heck
(from the book, "Barking Spiders 2")

Parents sure have lots of rules,
things to do and not do.
I’ll be glad when I get big
and growing up is gone through.

I won’t need a dentist
or a barber for my hair,
and I’ll go buy a chocolate cake
that I won’t have to share.

Maybe, I’ll stay up all night,
eat junk and watch TV.
If I want, I’ll sleep all day.
No more rules for me!

“How will you get up for work?
You might get fired”, Mom said.
“You won’t make any money
by sleeping late in bed.”

Why would I need money?
Who needs money anyway?
Rules are bad. When I grow up
I’ll do fun things all day.

"How will you pay your rent?
How will you buy a car?
How would you buy your grownup clothes?
(you’ll be bigger than you are) .

You’ll have to buy the food you eat.
You’ll have to have a phone.
How will you pay your heating bill,
‘cause surely you’ll buy a home?"

I hadn’t thought of all of that.
I can’t do that stuff.
It doesn’t sound like fun at all
and I don’t know enough.

Mom said as I get bigger,
the rules get bigger, too,
but when we start at my age,
growing up is fun to do.

She said, "People grow like houses,
step by step, and brick by brick.
That’s the way we all grow up
and having rules is part of it."

Isn't it funny, how we look back now and long for the days of childish innocence and gentle rules ...

Happy Friday everyone!

Publishers, a Rant

2011-11-03T06:49:00.001-04:00

Publishers, a Rant ...
by CJ Heck

As writers, we know the importance of, (and the hunger for), getting our work published by reputable publishers. We pour our hearts into the writing, we polish it, edit it, and then edit some more and, when
that's done, we at last turn it into the finished product, our manuscript. That's a daunting task in itself!

After our manuscript is done, we spend more time, gas, and money going to the book store for our annual copy of the Writer’s Digest book for our specific genre. Once home, we spend days reading about all of the publishers to find EXACTLY what they're looking for: fiction, non-fiction, poetry: (rhyming or non-rhyming), memoirs, essays, short story collections, screenplays, et al.

That done, we narrow that list to those who accept submissions without our need for an agent. (By the way, I’ve noticed this list shrinking with each new edition of Writer’s Market, no matter what the genre). We study this shortened list to see whether they are accepting manuscript submissions in precisely what we write in the genre they accept(children, young adult, romance, fantasy, science fiction, western, erotica, religion, spiritual, and new age).

Out of that group, we have to find those who accept manuscripts NOW. Some only accept manuscripts during a specified reading period, May 1 to July 1, for instance. The list is further narrowed down to find those that do not require “exclusive” submissions. This means we cannot submit elsewhere, until we've heard back from them, either yea or nay. It has been my experience that publishers can take anywhere from three months to forever to notify you. So, you can see how an exclusive submission can inhibit your progress towards finding a publisher. You can't send it to a second, until you hear back from the first ... and fewer and fewer are even notifying you at all. Some even put a caveat in their Writers Digest listing, stating that if you haven’t heard from them within a specified length of time, to consider your manuscript as rejected.

The final list we come up with is:

* Publishers who accept your genre.
* Publishers who accept what you write in that genre.
* Publishers accepting now.
* Publishers that accept multiple submissions.
* Publishers that don’t require an agent’s involvement.

Our job now is to study each of our final list of publishers and carefully follow their submission guidelines. We are warned to follow the instructions exactly! After all the hard work and time spent, we don’t want our
manuscript ending up in the waste basket because we missed some critical command.

We double space the manuscript, add the extra space between paragraphs, do the Title Page precisely how they want it, paginate, follow the rule of staples vs. paper clips, write a summary, include a short bio, any publishing credits we may have, and the SASE (self-addressed stamped envelope) so they can notify you - IF they notify you at all.

At last, your submission is perfect. We're sure to only send a copy, not the original, and with hope and pride, we take it to the local post office. Now comes the hard part (how can it be harder than what we’ve already been through? You ask). With fingers crossed and with baited breath, we wait ... and wait ... and wait.

Six months later, the day finally arrives! We receive a letter from a publisher! HUH? What's this? A form letter?

Dear Writer:

Thank you for your manuscript submission to (publishing company).

We have read your manuscript, ___________________ (title handwritten),
and after careful consideration, we have checked the appropriate box below:

well-written ___
has merit ___
interesting ___
needs work ___
inappropriate ___
does not fit our current list ___

We wish you good luck submitting your work elsewhere.

Sincerely,

(name)
(title)

Is it just me, or do all writers feel a lot more than rejected by a rejection letter? We put a heck of a lot of work, prep time, waiting time, and a lot of money into our submissions. I realize publishers are busy, and they also get hundreds of submissions, but I would think if they gave us a “heads up” as to what they ARE looking for in the last sentence of a rejection letter, it would save them time -- less rejection letters to send out -- and less money. There would be less in the slush pile on the floor pushed up against a wall gathering dust and waiting to be waded through by an already overworked, underpaid staff.

What is it they ARE looking for? What MIGHT fit into their present needs? We may already have something really good that IS perfect for their current list. Why is it that publishers don’t add one more tiny, itsy-bitsy sentence to the bottom of their rejection letter? Tell us what it is they ARE looking for that WOULD fit their current list.

I'm done ranting now. Thanks for your time and consideration.

***Note: I am both published and self-published. Both were difficult. My four books are available through Amazon.com, my website, and in most bookstores. You may have to ask for them, but they can sure get them for you.

"Barking Spiders and Other Such Stuff, Poetry for Children", 2000
"Barking Spiders 2", the sequel, 2011
"Me Too! Preschool Poetry", 2011
A Collection of Short Stories: "Bits and Pieces from a Writer's Soul", 2011

Website: Barking Spiders Poetry

My website has poetry from each of the three children's books, two short stories from "Bits and Pieces", a bookstore, information for writers and authors, publishing tips, school visit information for schools and how to invite me, articles on children and childhood, life, family, a huge collection of tongue twisters, silly poems to finish for children, a guest children's poet - Rusty Daily, and his poetry, another guest writer - Bob Cosmar, and some of my favorite quotations about children and writing.

Please visit often, because I'm always adding new material.
Hugs to you,
CJ