ReedWrites

2014-06-23T16:08:00.000+01:00

For The Writer's Tower Facebook page: June's Theme is "Mirrors"

A 'Saloon' Full Of Mirrors

Image, Denise Jaunsen

Four million square feet of retail space in an Egyptian Pyramid-themed mall with an attached water park? Oh, yes, this must be Malaysia -- and I'm having my hair done in one minuscule corner of it.

The recently-remodeled 'A-Saloon' (no, not "A Salon") now feels like a carnival fun-house where things happen to both perceptions and hair. Mirrors, divider walls, designer angles, more mirrors, black floor tiles, walls of mirrors, silver countertops…all turned this way and that. It should be too small to get lost in, yet all the mirrors and angles make it feel cast. In fact, it's enough to challenge my ability to arrive at the shampoo station in the back without a guide and a trail of crumbs to follow back.

Image by Sinopaperart

I'm early, so I can practice taking deep aroma-therapeutic lemongrass-infused breaths whilst waiting for Desmond, who's Chinese Malaysian and has begun his day seated at the back counter. He is intent on moussing and fluffing his own voluminous red-blonde Liberace-meets-Lyle-Lovett hair. The mirrors replicate half a dozen confident roosters duded up in black and rhinestones.

A "Director-level stylist" with impeccable posture, Desmond speaks five languages with an endearing lisp. He's close to six feet tall with the addition of the upswept cockerel head-piece, and everything visible is pierced. When he flirts in the mirror, my chagrin is palpable. Did I mention I could be his grandmother?

I've struggled to keep a hairdresser since we moved to Malaysia nearly four years ago; they always seem to change salons. But Desmond says he'll always be here for me. "Cannot leave, my uncle own da' place."

By 10:15, Desmond has finished preening. He runs his fingers through my hair now, tsk tsks over the silver roots and says "Why so long you not come?", then leans close and communes with the offending split ends. He summons someone called Aziza, and a small brown woman in a white layer-ruffled tunic -- Carmen Miranda without the fruit -- shimmies toward us. 'Des' shares his conclusions and demonstrates his command of the Malay language, then disappears to work some "Caramel Mocha" magic with the tubes of hair dye. Aziza preps me with a towel around my neck, a black nylon cape with SHISIEDO in big white letters across the front, and Chinese tea in a oh-too-stylish square white cup with an also-square lid which doubles as a coaster.

Des raises the chair -- fwup, fwup, fwup -- with a hydraulic pedal. He and Aziza divide my head into right brain and left, then section off and paint the offending silver roots with broad, flat brushes coated with Caramel Mocha goo. For a while, I watch in the mirror through half-closed eyes, but the preparation is icy on my scalp -- and I succumb to the urge to doze. The world goes dark as Aziza's delicate apprentice fingers pull delicately on one side of my head, while Des's stronger, journeyman hands tug at the other. My head is pulled this way and that as they section and paint, section and paint.

Then, I feel only just one pair of hands, the soft ones. The energy around me is gentler. Aziza pats and massages, pats and massages, then stops. I hear the sound of cling film being ripped off an industrial-sized roll. One eye flies open and, there in the mirror, a scree, scree, crinkle, crinkle, Aziza wraps my head round three times, then twists it tight, front and back, and tucks the twists under. She pats me on the shoulder, "Twenny minit," she whispers, then nods and smiles at the me in the mirror, then disappears.

I go to sleep.

With thanks to Lee Yoong Shin for the invitation to "The Writer's Tower".

2013-10-25T12:54:00.000+01:00

Launched this week...

The 2013 anthology from Writers Abroad:

"FOREIGN AND FAR AWAY"

Writers Abroad is a group of expat writers around the globe whose mission is to 'develop new and seasoned writers'. For the fourth year, they've published an anthology consisting of fiction, non-fiction and poetry by writers who are living, or who have lived as, expats.

This year's publication "explores the relationship between people and the landscapes they live in" and "evokes the diversities, similarities, connections and misunderstandings of life in foreign places". Yup, that about covers the ever-amazing expat life.

I'm very pleased to have a non-fiction piece in this publication...especially because the proceeds from the sale of the anthology this year support Book Aid International, a charity working to support access to books, literacy, education and development in sub-Saharan Africa.

Book Aid International provided 543,280 new books to over 2,000 libraries in 2012 and has sent more than 30 million books to partner libraries since 1954.

Aren't those incredible statistics? I'm happy to be a part of the effort. A friend in North Carolina posted the above photo to my Facebook page while I eagerly anticipate my own copy. It was nice to have a first photo-preview--and this first review, too. Thank you, Leslie!

Congratulations on a lovely piece in the anthology "Foreign and Far Away." I won't give too much away for other readers, but I especially loved your description of a *petite* Malaysian shower. I could feel it and hear it: "You know if you went out it would throw you to the ground and wash you away with the detritus rushing down the gutters and broad, concrete drains."

Won't you order a copy* and help the children of Sub-Saharan Africa and also assist Writers Abroad with the important work they do? Everyone, including the authors, volunteers their time and work so your purchase contribution is maximised.

Awww, go on, start shopping. Here's how:
CLICK HERE to purchase on amazon.com or CLICK HERE to purchase on amazon.co.uk

Foreign and Far Away is presently available in paperback; a Kindle edition is planned for early in 2014.

* Or two of more? Pssst!...the holidays are just around the corner...why not give the gift of literature--and literacy?

2013-07-16T07:09:00.000+01:00

Hey! Dominica Malcolm's just about ready to release "ADRIFT"...and you can pre-order a copy now!

I met Dominica Malcolm at one of Sharon Bakar's "Readings@Seksan" events here in Kuala Lumpur. A fellow expat writer in Malaysia, I liked her energy, enthusiasm and determination to finish this not-strictly-a-romance but sorta lesbian, bi-sexual time-travelling, mermaid-mythology set in some cool places. Like Barbados. And Jamaica. And New York.

Dominica does a pretty fair pirate impersonation. Seriously. It's not like she doesn't know her stuff! That day, at 'Readings', she thankfully kept the pistol in its holster and only read to us about blunderbusses, did a lot of oh-ho-ho'ing and carried on like it was the 17th century. I sighed when the mermaid came out of the water. Some good stuff here.

I'm honoured and pleased to help Dominica with the launch of her new book, "ADRIFT". Read on and, if it's your cup of tea (or rum, matey!) then get in on the fun to win a copy or pre-order or support her Indiegogo efforts.

Well done, Dominica!

Title: Adrift
Author: Dominica Malcolm
Publisher: Solarwyrm Press
Release date: September 19th, 2013

The blurb It's the 21st century, and Jaclyn Rousseau is not where she should be. 1661 disappeared before her eyes, and there's no way home. That matters not to Jaclyn—she lost her lover, and everything else that meant anything to her, in the West Indies. In an adventure that crosses time and the Atlantic, a murderous pirate must find a place for herself in this new world. Can she escape her past, or will it catch up with her?

Other book details Adrift is an adult speculative fiction novel, sitting at approximately 104,000 words or 400 pages. Though the novel opens in the 21st century, with Jaclyn meeting a businessman, Dick, the chapters alternate time periods, so you can learn about her past as the story progresses.

With the exception of time travel and mermaid mythology, it is all set in the real world in the two different time periods, and includes locations such as London; New York City; Washington, DC; and various parts of the Caribbean like Barbados and Jamaica.

Though not strictly a romance novel, the main relationship in the book is a lesbian one. It was important to the author to write a story that represented someone different from the mainstream in the protagonist role. As someone who identifies as bisexual, seeing characters who fit her sexuality in media was rare, and sometimes when she did see it, it was used more for fantasies of men rather than representing the reality.

She believes people of all sexualities, colours, abilities, genders, and so forth, need to have better representation in the media—both in fiction and non-fiction—so they can find more acceptance in the world. Add the book on Goodreads.

Want to know more? Adrift is currently looking for crowdfunded support on Indiegogo, to help pay for marketing. You can pre-order the book and start reading it before the release date, as well as picking up some other exclusive items.

More information is provided on the Indiegogo page at http://igg.me/at/adrift. From there, you can also download a preview of the entire first chapter.

Connect with the author Web site/blog: http://dominica.malcolm.id.au

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/DominicaMalcolm
Twitter: @dommalcolm

As part of the launch of the campaign, Dominica Malcolm, along with her partner at Solarwyrm Press, Jax Goss, are offering books in a rafflecopter giveaway! a Rafflecopter giveaway

If I Had Gotten To The Letter "P"...

2013-06-25T10:42:00.001+01:00

...in the #AtoZ Blog Challenge, I would have had plenty to say.

First, there would have been Photography, because I like that a lot. Then there would have been Publishing, because I'd like to be more of that, of course. But, really, what I might have keyed on would have been PLOT and PROMPT. Because the former is something I struggle with--and the latter is something that helps me deal with it.

Martha Alderson

So what happened to my #AtoZChallenge anyway? Months later, it's easy to answer because I'm not so annoyed about it. No sooner did I get past "M" for Malaysia but we nearly lost out Internet service completely! That's right, in 2013. *Poof* It was more than I could recover from. The Challenge moved on and by the time we had proper service restored, it was at "V". Never mind. I'm jumping back to "P" and taking deep breaths.

This post is about a book. A book about Plots and a book filled with Prompts related to plot. The author is Martha Alderson.

Do I recommend it? Heck, yes! That's why I'm here writing about it. This is my third Martha Alderson -- aka "The Plot Whisperer" -- book. First, I got The Plot Whisperer. It's reviewed on Amazon here. Next, I bought The Plot Whisperer Workbook. I reviewed that latter on www.amazon.com and you can find it here.

And then? About two weeks ago I bought the Kindle version of The Plot Whisperer Book of Writing Prompts. I've been using said prompts daily since. The subtitle -- "Easy Exercises To Get You Writing" -- has been 100% true for me. I read a comment once on a review of an Alderson book and the commenter, who otherwise liked the book a lot, said there was "too much whispering". Frankly, that comment alone sold me, though I didn't need much selling since I'd been very pleased with the first two books in the series.

How does it work? The prompts are numbered. There's no date. There are simply 120 prompts related to plot. The first chapter is about setting writing goals, what the book's all about, how to use it. And then there is some basic Martha Alderson "Plot Planner" info to help you see how the prompts relate to plot.

Finally, there are the prompts themselves. Each of the 120 prompts consists of:

An affirmation prompt (the whispery part, I suppose)
A plot prompt (something about your protagonist or goals and actions, for instance)
A writing prompt (an instruction/suggestion about what to write that day to address the plot prompt)
A record (a place to track the time, words, projected end date, energy level)

My result? From the beginning, I've found the prompts uncanny. If I was just starting a new book, this is what I would start with: a daily get-you-going semi-meditative exercise with some clearly defined, related things to think about. And a specific prompt to get your pen on paper. Mind you, I'm not just starting. I have well over 150,000 words in my current manuscript. But I also have plenty of holes, some glaring oopses, some really weak stuff, some backstory that's needed. You name it. I know it's there. Or not there.

This is helping me fix it. Each day, I repair something or rework something I know is weak, or missing. I am working through the prompts in order...1, 2, 3...though one day I skipped one and moved on. I might try jumping around soon. Whatever it is, there's something there I can work on each day.

How does it work? One day, for instance, it might be a prompt to write moment-by-moment action about something stands in my heroine's way and interferes with her getting what she wants. I do the affirmation first--each is different, they're very good and each one ends with "Today I write", which still makes me say "wow" every time I whisper it to myself (see? it's the whispering). Then Martha explains a bit and suggests what to write about--and why. And I think "Oh, yeah, that bit I never wrote about when Anna and Sergeant Roper fell off the cliff..." And then I note the time and take a whack at that in a notebook (with no lines!) and *poof*. When I stop later, guess what? I've usually got 700-1500 words that I needed and I trot off to Scrivener, do some typing and apply the patch.

What's next? My notion is that this practice will be great for the next book. Of course, I have to finish this one--but it's getting there. I'm aiming toward doing NaNoWriMo on November 1st and I sense that the plot work and daily writing to the prompts would be excellent daily starters. I might read through and pick out 30 prompts that address my greatest areas of need or weakness and go with it that way. Whatever it is, though, I know that beginning with the affirmation prompt (and repeating to myself "Today I write.") is the way to go for me.

Interested in your own copy? Check it out on Amazon right here. Thanks, Martha!

p.s. You don't have to have the earlier books to get what you want out of this one. Martha makes a lot of information available via her blog, a very informative YouTube channel, and a newsletter filled with information. She is very generous with the free stuff; I noticed some prompts in her blog if you want to check them out. Oh, yes, Anna and Sergeant Roper didn't fall off a cliff.

"M" is for Malaysia's Magnificent Mammals, Monkeys, Malamutes and Many More!

2013-04-14T15:42:00.000+01:00

I love animals and Malaysia has some incredibly wonderful (and often endangered) ones. Photography is another passion of mine; I often try to marry photography and writing but, when it comes to animals, I confess I am more into the photos than the words, preferring silence and simple awe in their m-m-m-magnificent presence.

Here are a few of the animal photos I've taken in Malaysia. A book of my photography--animal and otherwise--along with some poetry can be read here in its entirety.

The Orang Utan

The Kuala Lumpur butterfly park is amazing...

...and so is the bird park!

"Moaz" came to visit from the US and loved the
Silver Leaf Monkeys
of Bukit Melawati...

And so did big brother Omer

Yes, it's a hornbill!

Love the cheeky babies...a lot. And the moms will share them.

...and the heart-shaped face!

Silver leaf monkeys are born bright orange, and change
colour with age.

An elephant at Kuala Gandah Sanctuary

Tiger, tiger...sadly, endangered tiger.

"Malamutes" qualify for wild beasties in Malaysia, too (Solo thinks).

He prefers a swimming pool.

Rogue gets her feet wet in the South China sea.

"L" is for Language, Which I Love And Am Endlessly Fascinated By...

2013-04-13T16:20:00.000+01:00

One of the fascinating things about moving to a new country is the language. Or languages, in the case of Kuala Lumpur and Malaysia. There's the Malay language (Bahasa Malayu) which is native to Brunei, Indonesia and Singapore as well. Malays comprise slightly over half the population. Then there are the Chinese, the second largest population group, who may well speak any or all of Mandarin, Cantonese, Hokkien, Malay, English and others. The smallest group here are the Indians, so let's add Hindu, Punjabi, Tamil and any of 17 others to the list.

Don't take my word about it: read about it here. Fortunately for us expats, many people in Malaysia speak excellent English (impressive English!). A very large number speak very passable English. This is one of those places where it's pretty darned easy to come as an English-speaking tourist and get around just fine.

There's a vibrant English writing community, too. Novels, anthologies, and books of poetry written by

Malaysian English language
literature, home-grown!

Malaysian authors and published by Malaysian publishers are to be found on the bookshelves--in English. There are public readings for aspiring writers in several locations regularly and it's sometimes difficult to get a space in one of Sharon Bakar's Word Works English language writing classes. Malaysia has it's own George Town Literary Festival (there's also one in Singapore as well), held in Penang each November. It's a happenin' place!

OK, so what's the catch? For me, the 'catch' has been coming to terms with speaking English whilst, at the same time, not speaking English. Some people use the term "Chinglish" (English influenced by Chinese) to describe it but I find it a broader, more interesting (and sometimes hopeless but always amusing when I look back at it in a later sane moment) situation. And, when you add the cultural context of "timeliness"--as if such existed here--it can be hilarious.

First, the key words you need to know: OK, OK-OK, Can, Can-Can, No-Can, No have, Finish*. I am convinced that, with the addition of some arm-waving and possibly a pencil and scrap of paper in the case of numerical negotiations or the need to exchange phone numbers, much service-related commerce in Malaysia can be completed. OK, so armed with that, let's call for service.

Enter the plumber. My working hypothesis is that, in Malaysia, there are only three possibilities for any appointment: 1) The person will be early; 2) The person will be late; 3) The person will not show up at all. That's it. There are no others.

So. I made an appointment with the plumber, Mr Woo, for one Thursday last year. It wasn't urgent. I settled in to spend the day writing on the Tuesday immediately preceding. A blissful morning and afternoon awaited me. The phone rang.

ME: "Hello?"
WOO: "Come now."
ME: "Why? Have appointment for Thursday."
WOO: "Thursday no can. Come now."
ME: "OK-OK, what time?"
WOO: "Come now."
ME: "OK-OK, come now."

OUTCOME: Mr Woo arrived on Thursday two hours before the originally scheduled time. All my time waiting for him on Tuesday (informing security, locking the dogs up, peering out the window while I didn't write) was wasted. He made no comment regarding what happened on Tuesday. I am certain that if I'd asked why he hadn't come on Tuesday, he would have said "No can."

Then there's That Literal Thing. Recently I went with two friends to an upscale coffee house, Dr Cafe. I went to order three drinks and three different pastries. "JJ", an American friend, wanted the one lonely blueberry muffin in the display case. It was closest to the class and had a little sign next to it which said "BLUEBERRY MUFFIN RM7" (RM7 is the price).

Here's how it went. (HELP = Counter Help)

HELP: “Can help you?”
ME: "Yes, I’d like a blueberry muffin."
HELP: "Blueberry muffin?"
ME (pointing): "Yes, blueberry muffin."
HELP: "No have."
ME: (pointing at muffin nearest the front of the display case and tapping on glass) "What’s that? That’s a blueberry muffin right there, with the round blue things on the top."
HELP: "No have."
ME: "Really? But what is that muffin right there, with the blue berries in it? (tapping on glass and pointing at sign next to muffin with round blue exposed blueberries)
HELP: "That LOWFATBLUEBERRY muffin.
ME: "But it's still a BLUEBERRY muffin."
HELP: "No. LOWFATBLUEBERRY muffin."
ME: (biting tongue, smiling, caving in). OK, I’ll have the LOWFATBLUEBERRY muffin. (sigh)

* Finish: A word which means 1) we're out of what you want; 2) we're out of what you want and I have no idea when there will be any more so don't ask; 3) you should have asked me last week; it's too late now, foot; 4) you're too late and I'm not helping you; 5) I don't know what you're asking for so I'm just going to let you know you aren't getting any.

"K" is for KL, as in Kuala Lumpur, where I now live, and Ketupat, which is nice, too.

2013-04-13T09:12:00.001+01:00

Two years and two months ago I moved from the UK, where I'd lived since 1999 and was quite content, to Kuala Lumpur (Malaysia). Initially, we moved for eight or nine months with the "possibility" that we'd stay longer. We stayed longer.

Until I began scrambling for a "K" word for the blog, I hadn't realised just how common words beginning with the letter K now are in my life. Hmmmmph. How did I miss that? I'd already eliminated Knowledge (too broad), Kindness (I was feeling grumpy) and King (couldn't think of a connection as there's no King in my novel--only a Queen, a Sultan and a Tsar or two.)

Kuala Lumpur Skyline, Wikipedia Commons file

So Kuala Lumpur it is! It turns out that there are many, many words in Malaysia which begin with the letter "K". It's far more Kommon, I'd wager, than "K" in the English language. Why? Because when the older Malay language was transliterated into English and simplified, things were spelled phonetically. Kinda Klever, if you ask me. It eliminated that old quandary for foreigners speaking English: is the "C" pronounced like a C (as in cinnamon), an S (as in , or a Ch or something else entirely (as in succinct)?

As a result, "K" became relatively common when the language was converted to English. As I understand it, the nice simple rule is this: If it's a hard "c" (as in car, for instance) it's changed to a "K". It it carries the sound of "ch", it's spelled (spelt) with a "c". Many words carried over from the English (the British were here, recall) and you can see it once you get used to them:

Examples of just a few (like 1/3 of the list I made) of my favourite beginner"K" words:

Kelip-kelip at Kuala Selangor
xavierjayakumar.blogspot.com

Kacang is pronounced "ka-chang" (k = k) and (c - ch). It's a bean classification.
Kontrak is the word for Contract (spelled in Malay more or less as it is in English)
Kereta is the word for car
Kepala is the word for head (could be related to Cephalo, Latin, from Kepalo, Greek?)
Keracik is a form of coconut used in cookin (pronounced ker-a-chik, of course)
Kari is the Malay word for Curry (couldn't call it churry, could we?)
Kiri and Kanan are the words for Left and Right (no, no origin comes to me!)
Kawan means 'friend'
Kecil means little (not ke-sill, of course, but ke-chil)
Kadang-kadang is one of the lovely Malay double words and it means 'sometime'
Kelip-kelip is another and it means 'firefly', something they do have here in Malaysia
And, finally, Ketupat is one of my absolutely favourite discoveries in Malaysia

Ketupat on sale in the market, above, and as served, right.
Woven leaves hold glutinous rice and coconut milk and are steamed to a wondrous perfection,
particularly popular during Ramadan. I love it anytime I can get it, particularly served with chicken satay and peanut sauce. Yumm!

Photo, left: iqmaltahir.wordpress.com
Photo, right: susu-pekat-manis.blogspot.com

"J" is about how I became a cracking good speller, in spite of myself...

2013-04-11T16:55:00.000+01:00

I don't have a particular fondness for the letter "J". In fact, it's linked to one of the worst memories of my young academic life and may explain why I became so fanatical about spelling.

When I was in the fifth grade--about age 9-10, I was already a good speller. I always scored 100% on Miss Dunaway's weekly spelling tests and was proud of it. Go on, throw me a pop quiz. I would spell 10 out of 10 words correctly every time.

I don't know why I could spell well; I just could. Nobody else in my family was ever called out for this particular skill; in fact, quite the opposite. They had other talents--like they could all water ski and ice skate, at both of which I was abysmal. It didn't seem fair but I got what I got. And they got the good stuff.

Eventually, I was recognised as the number one speller in my class. When I was in elementary school--in the late 1950s--this wasn't necessarily a good thing. Only "teacher's pet" people and real nerdy types were the best spellers. Or 'dorks'. This was about the time the word 'dork' came into being in Orange County, California. The last thing you wanted to be was one of them. It was far better to be a 'neat', popular kid. It was a burden, being able to spell, an automatic demotion to the lowest of the low.

Imagine my horror when Miss Dunaway announced that there was to be a District Spelling Bee and the two best spellers from our class were going to represent the fifth grade. It was me and a light blonde, blue-eyed kid with a square head and big brown thick-lensed glasses that had a strap on them so they wouldn't fall off. I'm not making this up: his name was Herbie Delight. The other kids said he was sweet on me. Alas, I was enamoured of Price Locke, a star-quality blonde kid with a cowlick. Three girls liked Price. Life just isn't fair, is it?

So off we went to the Spelling Bee on the appointed Sunny Southern California afternoon. The details fade but I do remember these things clearly:

There were many children there; it must have been Kindergarten to 6th grade.
It was noisy (see number 1. for explanation)
There were nearly twice as many parents as children--so, hey, a lot of people overall.
Both of my parents were there. This is big stuff because my dad didn't go to my concerts and other life events very often--he was busy being a flight test engineer and helping people break sound barriers and eventually go to the moon.
I was wearing a red plaid dress my mother had made me (she made all my clothes). It had a full gathered skirt but I didn't have any nice full petticoats yet. They were on my Christmas list.
I had on horrible brown saddle shoes which were corrective in nature because, apparently, I had something wrong with my feet that needed correcting (I have good feet now so the embarrassing shoes treatment must have worked).
I was terrified and didn't want to be there at all.

Does anybody ever actually like these things? I didn't. The only worse thing was having to play organ concerts when my organ teacher--Miss Margaret--decided periodically to hold one and show off our budding musical talents. She had about two dozen Pekingese dogs and they were always all over the place so it made for an interesting event for a lot of reasons. (I'll save that for the "P" day blog, shall I?)

Cutting to the chase: I made it to some sort of semi-final or maybe even the final round in my age group. I spelled some pretty impressive words. It's different when you're in the fifth grade and you don't even know what a word means. Like peripatetic. Or chrysanthemum. Or duodenum. I could do it. I did it. I was almost there.

Miss Dunaway was with me and I could do it for her. But could I do it with my awe-inspiring whiz of a father, Mr Science, in the audience? That remained to be seen.

It was for all the marbles. There were four kids left, maybe six. I can't really remember, probably owing to some sort of psychological trauma filter my brain immediately invoked afterwards and still hasn't been willing to let go. Herbie had long since bowed out; I have no idea what he couldn't spell but I knew that when I heard him spell it, he had blown it. Poor Herbie.

A hush fell over the crowd. They always say that, don't they? Maybe it did and maybe it didn't. The spotlight, though I'm sure there wasn't one, felt like it had fallen on me. It was my turn. My turn. All the marbles. What did that mean, "all the marbles?" I couldn't remember. Oh god please let this be a word I can spell. I promise I'll clean my room without being told. I won't pick on my little brother. Honest, I won't...

"Cindi Saunders. The word is JURY. Please spell JURY," said the person with the microphone. Did I breathe? No. Did I think? No. Do I know how to spell JURY. Yes. Did I say "Jury, J-U-R-Y, Jury" in the prescribed manner? No. I did not.

Immediately, and for reasons unknown to this day, the image of my mother's Ladies Home JOURNAL Magazine, laying on the coffee table in the living room, crowded into my mind and overloaded every synapse, coursed through every tiny artery, sang in an exalted voice until I heard nothing else. 'I can spell it, I can spell it! I can win, I can win!

"Jury, J-O-U-R-Y, Jury," I said, loud and clear.

Well, that was that. It was over. I'm sure my parents weren't upset; I'm certain they were proud that I got there in the first place and got to some sort of final round. I, on the other hand, was humiliated, mortified, embarrassed and probably in tears though I don't recall that either. How could I miss spelling a four-letter word? I'll never know. I choked. I panicked. I didn't stop and think.

It didn't seem like it at the time but it was a good thing. I remember clearly, as if it had happened earlier this afternoon, vowing that I would never get caught again not being able to spell a word. And I seldom do. It's a heavy burden to bear sometimes--people are always saying things like "Oh, can you spell jaculiferous or juglandaceous or jectigation...?" and off I go again, hoping that I can, but at least thinking it through carefully. I'm much more careful now.

Miss Dunaway would be proud of me.

Oh, yeah...so, like, whatever became of Herbie? Well. I just Googled Herbie and there is one Herbert J Delight who's my age in the entire United States. He's living half an hour away from where we went to school. And his father is still alive, at age 95. Well, so is mine, just coming 90. Amazing. I haven't thought of Herbie in years. (Please don't tell him I said that.)

And Price Locke? Amazingly, he's right there, too, not three miles from where we grew up--over fifty years later. I think I'll stay right where I am.

Want to know more about the history of the National Spelling Bee in the U.S.? Click here!

#AtoZChallenge

"I" is for Isambard Kingdom Brunel

2013-04-10T07:55:00.001+01:00

I'm certain that I had never heard of the man called Isambard Kingdom Brunel until I was about 50 years old. If you're not British, it's likely you haven't heard of him either. If you are from Great Britain, you probably know that he was placed second in the "Top 100 Britons" of all time in a BBC poll in 2002.

Go on, ask who beat him. (Winston Churchill). To put him in historical perspective, Brunel topped Princess Diana, Charles Darwin, William Shakespeare, Sir Isaac Newton, Queen Elizabeth I, John Lennon, Admiral Horatio Nelson and Oliver Cromwell (in that order) for the Top 10. Now are you wondering who he was?

Robert Howlett photo, 1859

Yesterday, April 9th, would have been Mr Brunel's 207th birthday. A pity the months didn't sync just right for yesterday to be "I" day; that won't happen again until 2019 so I'm pressing on.

Because his is one of the most unusual names I've ever encountered -- Isambard -- and with a middle name like 'Kindgom', he stuck in my mind the first time I heard him mentioned. And there he has remained ever since. Because he didn't live to see his 54th birthday (a heavy smoker, he died of a stroke) his accomplishments are all the more amazing.

But did he really do all that? Controversial new research suggests that his accomplishments may have been exaggerated, his projects error-plagued and, in some cases, that he may not have done what he is credited with. Oops. Good time for an inquiry.

To say that Brunel left his mark on England is an understatement. A quick look at Wikipedia and we learn that he was a "mechanical and civil engineer who built dockyards, the Great Western Railway, a series of steamships including the first propeller-driven transatlantic steamship and numerous important bridges and tunnels."

Bridge over the River Avon, Bristol (Mark Hadlow photo)
Did Isambard Kingdom Brunel really design
the Clifton Suspension Bridge?

His designs revolutionised public transportation and modern engineering. According to Britain Express, his most remarkable feat for the Great Western Railway was the Box Tunnel, between Bath and Chippenham. This amazing engineering feat was two miles long, took almost six years to complete and, when the crews funneling from each end met in the middle, it's said they were only 1.25 inches out of alignment.

As a transplant to 'Old Blighty' myself, I have consistently been surprised at how often I've run into the name Isambard Kingdom Brunel. It seemed that everywhere I went or lived was somehow touched by the genius of Brunel. In fact, I lived in Kensal Green (London) for a year--and discovered on walk through the vast Kensal Green Cemetery one day that the man is buried there. It was nice to have him close by.

Why mention him now? Given how he and his many projects kept showing up, it was little surprise to me that I stumbled on a Brunel design when researching hospitals for my Crimean War-era novel. I'm not writing a book about Florence Nightingale so I wanted a different hospital setting than the ones commonly associated with her. It was then I discovered Renkioi Hospital. And guess who designed it?

In February 1855, as war dragged on inconclusively and soldiers continued to die of things over than battlefield wounds, Brunel accepted the the task of designing and building--quickly--a temporary, pre-fabricated hospital that could be shipped to the Crimea and erected there. His team assembled designed, built, and shipped pre-fabricated wood and canvas buildings for the hospital--within five months.

Ward building design, Renkioi Hospital, Istanbul, 1955

Of particular note was the attention paid to hygiene, access to sanitation, ventilation, drainage, and even rudimentary temperature controls. The pre-fab units were a great success, with some sources stating that of the approximately 1,300 patients treated in the hospital, there were only 50 deaths. In the more familiar Scutari hospital itself, deaths were reported to be up to ten times that number.

How can all this be true? Yes, it's a lot. And, sadly, as so often happens, further research sometimes sheds new light on our old beliefs. It is no different in Brunel's case. While I'm disappointed that this much-admired man's reputation and accomplishments have been called into question, it's also a pity that, if true, so many others didn't get credit for their work.

So who's right? Consider the current debate. In a Telegraph article from 2011, biographer Adrian Vaughan claims, in his book, 'The Intemperate Engineer', that many of the things Brunel is credited with did not happen. After studying previously-unpublished Brunel writings, as well as engineering drawings of the period, he also maintains that Brunel's work was littered with errors and problems--and often overdue and over budget. On the other hand...

Steven Brindle, an English Heritage historian, disagrees with Vaughan. Author of a book called "Brunel: The Man Who Built the World" Vaughan defends Brunel, the engineer, as well as his own conclusions. "Brunel,"he says, "was a genius at the level of Leonardo or Mozart. Again and again in his career, he had these fundamental insights....he was capable of what we would call blue sky thinking to a quite remarkable extent."

The answer? I don't know--but I would like to--and will continue to follow the debate. What do you think?

What I do know is that the engineering marvels of the Victorian era stand today, whoever designed them, as examples of a period of great innovation and change in the world. An impressive period indeed.

I also know that researching the illustrious reputation of Isambard Kingdom Brunel for this "I" blog has been interesting, informative, illuminating, inspirational, intriguing, instructive and more...including my discovery of a fascinating list of words beginning with the letter I which calls me to look for even more.

Thanks for reading this April #AtoZChallenge blog! Comments and corrections welcome, please...

"H" is for Hashtag and some of what I've learned thus far...

2013-04-09T14:53:00.001+01:00

Hashtags. You know, those funny things with a hash mark (or 'pound sign') in front of them. Appear on Twitter tweets and other places. Like here, with the #AtoZChallenge. See? That's a "hashtag".

I'm not the only one who's onto hashtags today...the theme over at #AtoZChallenge Headquarters today is "Hashtag the heck out of us!" Lots of good information there. But here, a very basic primer on hashtags AND some information on Tagboard, a site I discovered just yesterday (see below).

But what are they for, and what do you do with them? (Spoiler alert: I'm not the expert, just learning a little bit here and there and have found value in marketing--and other pursuits--with the help of social media). One definition of Hashtags comes from http://www.hashtags.org/ and says that hashtags allow us to "listen, measure and engage in Twitter conversations and gain valuable social media insights".

And who does this? Hashtags can and are used for any industry, keyword, event, business, product, service or blog where the need to track traffic or measure results is required. Well, that just about covers most of the known world, doesn't it? I've used it to track incentive programmes, measure return on investment, see who's visiting the client's website, do fund-raising, make sure my complaint about a product gets seen. Never tried it? Just add # and the company name to your complaint tweet (make sure it's the Twitter account they use) and watch the customer service folks respond.

Ever wonder what "trending" is all about? Read this article and you're on your way. See an example in the graph below.

Why does all this matter? Read this article for information on hashtag tracking and you'll have a great beginning....and then...

Take a look at #LadyGaga, for instance (an example most of us recognise). There is more data there than you'd ever want to know about Ms Stefani Joanne Angelina Germanotta. Not interested in her? Consider what you can learn if you track a specific issue or company--say #IBM, the #environment or #gaymarriage or #WallStreet or a person, like #BarackObama or #JoeDiffie or #JKRowling. Go one, have a look check it out!

Participants in the #AtoZChallenge use the official Challenge hashtag so that their tweets, for instance, are picked up in various feeds and services so prospective readers will see them OR, importantly, anyone else who is tracking or searches on #AtoZChallenge, in this example, will find all the Tweets which contain that hashtag. The organisation also uses it to track who completes their 26 A to Z days.

I set up a search in Tweetdeck (a free Twitter application I use) to receive a feed of all the #AtoZChallenge hashtags. Then I can choose the participant blogs I want to read each day based on what they've said about that day's blog in their Tweet.

I knew about http://www.hashtags.org/ and I'd gone there before to see if there was a specific hashtag, for instance, for something I was interested in. But I hadn't understood that, while anyone in the world can use the hashtag, for say, the #CrimeanWar (of interest to me) no one had actually registered that hashtag so hashtags.org wasn't measuring it.

Is hashtags.org the only one? Not by a long shot! It's only one site/service related to Twitter and tweeting. It may not provide anything to you and what you want to do.

More appropriate for some people could be www.Tagboard.com, which allows users to "see the whole conversation, across networks, making it the perfect hub for social media." It still uses hashtags, though, so it's all a part of the same broader social media whole. It's a lot like Pinterest but built on hashtags.

When I used the hashtag #CrimeanWar (researching for my novel) and found all sorts of people posting information and photos. I registered a hashtag of my own, #ReedWrites, there, and when I use it in Tweets, people on tagboard will see my tweets (see left). This can serve to put me in touch with others with the same interest OR have them visit my site or blog for more information about my project.

Kinda fun, I thought, and potentially very useful for my research and eventual marketing efforts. Give it a try!

Comments, corrections and additional resources welcome! As noted above, I am not the expert but only a learner. Thank you for visiting.

"G" is for Good, No, GREAT Writing Quotes

2013-04-08T15:34:00.000+01:00

"G" is the most difficult letter of the #AtoZChallenge alphabet yet. "K" looms large and knarly (or is it gnarly?) just ahead...but we're not there quite yet. I spent Sunday thinking, polled a few friends and ended up with a great big list of "G" words that, try as I might, I couldn't link to writing.

Nothing came to mind so, naturally, I turned to a favourite quote. It sits on my work table:

'When words don't come easy, I make do with silence and find something in nothing.' (Strider Marcus Jones)

Well, gee-whiz. So I listened, like the man said. And it came to me. "OK," I decided, "I'm taking the lazy way out and stealing a favourite idea from the second half of the alphabet!" Right, cheat. Got it. So, my "G" post is (tah-dah!) about the Good, Great, Glorious, Grand QUOTATIONS which have changed my day, or my life, or gotten me un-stuck or back on track somewhere along the way.

And here are some of them. (Spoiler alert: I have so many, I'm certain there'll be plenty left for Q-Day if nothing else comes along.)

FIRST, an an all-time favourite from an all-time favourite man, film critic and writer extraordinaire Roger Ebert:

"You are the writer. What you write is what is written. It is exactly right because it is exactly what you wrote. If someone else doesn't think so, fuck 'em. There is no objective goal, no objective right or wrong. Only the process. Your mind will set itself down in words. Do not criticize. Do not look back at every sentence. Just write. You have no idea where you are headed. Your words will lead you. This above all: Nothing is ever completed until it is started. Start. Don't look back. If at the end it doesn't meet your hopes, start again."

NEXT, this one. I love what Clancy says because it makes my mind make grinding sounds just thinking about it:

"The difference between fiction and reality? Fiction has to make sense.” -Tom Clancy

BUT, some days I want a more mellow approach, something that puts the great big picture in something resembling perspective. Thich Nhat Hanh does that for me:

"Our own life is the instrument with which we experiment with truth." - Thich Nhat Hanh

And, FINALLY, for now...my newest gleaned quote, just last week from an interview in an issue of Creative Nonfiction Magazine; it came along at just the right time. I needed a kick in the, well, you know. Isn't this just the most wonderful writing advice?

“Writing is hard for every last one of us—straight white men included. Coal mining is harder. Do you think miners stand around all day talking about how hard it is to mine for coal? They do not. They simply dig. You need to do the same. … so write, Elissa Bassist. Not like a girl. Not like a boy. Write like a Mother#^@%*&!"

"F" is for Father (and a poem about flying with family in Idaho)

2013-04-06T15:27:00.000+01:00

My family loves to fly. Dad was a WWII and Korean War bomber pilot, later a test pilot and then a private pilot until well into his 80s. Mom got her instrument rating in 1973, right after they bought their first plane: a six-passenger Beechcraft Bonanza A36.

One of their two sons is a private charter pilot and still flies. The other son loved dune buggies and, for me, it was horses. Home was Southern California; work was to get out and go. They flew everywhere and traveled with little Honda 50s in the back. When there was nowhere else to go, they'd land on a dirt runway pitch a pop-up Coleman tent and ride the little motorcycles into the nearest town to grab a burger or a bowl of soup.

Sometime in 1976, my father discovered the Bitterroot Wilderness of Idaho--something like one million acres of designated wilderness--and a series of U.S. Forestry Service-maintained runways truly in the middle of nowhere. Eventually, the family settled on Moose Creek (though there are lots of other wonderful places as well) and that was where we went.

Some families have lake cabins or mountain homes or places in the desert or at the seashore. We didn't. We had the beauty of Idaho, the bountiful rivers and lakes (most years) but sometimes couldn't fly in because of the fires, when the USFS would close the runways to all but fire-fighting use.

Over the years, Dad and Mom celebrated their anniversary at Moose Creek, camping all alone for a week, nearly every late September. Mom made cherry pies in the camp oven Daddy had bought her and he unearthed a cast iron griddle he kept buried in the hills (there was a treasure map to find it every year) and made hashed brown potatoes and bacon for breakfast.

In the summertime, we all went...kids, grand-kids, the odd great-grand-child and even my Alaskan Malamute, Wookie, who clambered on board quite cheerfully, sat herself in the second row with me and had a great old time, never noticing (apparently) that we were flying on our wingtip up a winding mountain cabin, a sparkling blue river a few thousand feet below. We hiked, we fished, we sat, we slept. We ate. And did it all over again. Especially the eating part.

Those times are over. One too many pacemaker replacements and Dad's pilot's licence went. Mom started having memory problems and wouldn't (and shouldn't) fly alone. It was time to pack it in. We made a few more trips with my brother, Ron, ferrying us all in and out.

The next-to-last trip was 2005--for my parents' 58th wedding anniversary and it was fabulous, memory-filled and the stuff that overwrites everything else. I even took my British fiance to meet the folks and whinge about sleeping on the ground with his feet hanging out of my parents' original 1970s pop tent while they lived like kings in the new Northface withstand-anything model.

The last trip was September 2007. Their 60th anniversary. And we almost made it to Moose Creek. Almost. Unfortunately, it was a fire year and, though we tried, visibility was compromised and we couldn't land. We turned and flew back south toward Boise and set up camp near Cascade Lake--sitting around the campfire pretending it was Moose Creek but knowing that it wasn't. And that there probably wouldn't be another trip to 'Moose'.

There wasn't. But 30 years in the Bitterroot Mountains of Idaho? It's a lot to be thankful for.

I wrote this poem about my dad a few weeks ago as an exercise in a Sharon Bakar class in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. The memories are so strong it might have been last month that we sat around the fire at Cascade Lake, not at Moose Creek. Dad and Mom are well, the plane has been sold but Ron still flies and takes my dad up for a go whenever he can. Daddy, this one's for you...

Bitterroot Mountains

He’s old, facing ninety head-on, deep lines

framed by the latest in high-tech camping hats,

polar fleece doubled up against the

Coumadin cold of now-thin blood. He sits,

hands pocketed, reading embers.

It’s the last trip. It has that feel, lastness,

together we will crown their sixty years,

but Idaho consecrates this anniversary

with fire. Smoke obscures the canyon—

instruments or not—and we fly back.

Almost Moose Creek, not quite there but nearly

there, hunkered down around this lesser fire,
its orange-red cincture catching each cinder,

sending sooty signals into the endless heavens

above that special place in the Bitterroot

we have family-worshipped for so long.

His heart is going, her mind has gone--

not that we Know it yet, unequivocally, but

he has guessed and keeps her safe from us,

draws circles around their memories with his

own smoky screen of love sixty decades wide

and a lifetime long.

Mom washes dishes as she always does
and Debbie dries. One plastic tub with creek water
hand carried, another to rinse and maybe

they’ll be dry by breakfast-time

to do it all over again, Saunders-style.

The girls roast marshmallows and giggle,

Derek and Ron count endless stars in a blueblack sky

and name constellations as if they could best the best

(or perhaps it is to let him win just one more time)

‘That’s not Omega,’ laughs my father

rousing himself to point skyward and last-inning

take the game he knows oh so well

“it’s Cassiopea; see the ‘W’ shape, right there?”

grunts and turns back to his fire.

Across the ring our eyes meet as they do

once every fifteen years or so and I abdicate

my speaker’s role to wait for a different ending.

“Christ, he doesn’t say much,’’ I think, and exhale

blatant longing. “But when did he ever?

He clears his throat, leans back, waits…

‘Wonder what the poor folks are doin’ tonight?’

A chuckle, a wink, a nod affirm that his life

is rich, descendants all around, the fire crackling,

unspoken love and memories rising

in the unknowable Bitterroot night.

"E" is for Edit...SmartEdit, if you please!

2013-04-05T11:20:00.000+01:00

I'm in Edit mode with my novel right now. I've got plenty left to write, of course, but my manuscript also got to the point where it needed some serious smoothing out. I realised that the day I discovered that someone who did something in Chapter 34 had actually been killed in Chapter 22. Ouch.

I've been using a tool in this process which I really like: SmartEdit. It's FREE. The full SmartEdit version can be downloaded and used for ten days, then either purchased OR you can opt for the free-forever package which contains the most used features of the larger product.

It's E-Day! Let me tell you about SmartEdit and how to try it out.
WHAT IS IT? SmartEdit is a new, first-pass editing tool for writers. Not a replacement for a human editor or good proofreading, it's an aid--and easy helper for when you begin editing your work.

WHAT DOES IT DO: SmartEdit takes text or reads from an rtf file and runs all these checks on your document and produces a list. Imagine your surprise when you discover (as did I) that you have way too many adverbs or you've actually used the word 'actually' ten times in a chapter.

Or that 14 sentences begin with 'Mother had said'. Ouch. You can go through and change--or not change--them. I've found it a very useful writing tool, too, since it's identifying some things I do again and again.

WHAT ABOUT SELF-PUBLISHING: We all have a hard time catching our own mistakes. If you're self-publishing, and you don't have a strong plan for outside editing, I think this is brilliant. It picks up things from a library of commonly-misused words (capital vs capital, for instance) and makes it simple to catch those before your first readers do. The dialog tag counter is great, too. Does your hero 'exclaim' or 'declare' everything? Give the boy a choice with some SmartEditing!

WHAT DOES IT LOOK LIKE: Here's a sample. Oh, those pesky adverbs! See all the sample pages in the SmartEdit gallery for a closer look.

p.s. Want an "E" bonus?
Check out Evernote...and 'Remember Everything'
I truly use this one for just about everything I do. I collect ideas, clip things from web pages, save whole web pages to it, capture the odd paragraph opening I write in Starbucks, research items wherever I am...at home or on the go...and sync it all between my PC, my iPad and my Android phone. I think it's fantastic. Check it out and download your copy at:

http://evernote.com/evernote/

#AtoZChallenge

"D" is for Dialogue...which fills me with dread, despair and despondency...

2013-04-04T11:00:00.000+01:00

I've been an author of non-fiction, a sorta technical marketing author specialist type for IT and telecomms, for decades. That's my comfort zone. So when I set off to write this novel, for a long time I simply avoided the Dialogue part. It was easy during NaNoWriMo: I just blasted out 50,000 words and some of it was blah blah blah. I'd fill in the blanks later.

Then I finally had to Do it. Write Dialogue. The very idea filled me with a bunch of other "D" words: despair, doubt, distress and despondency will do for starters.

Add to that the fact that I was writing historical fiction set in mid-19th century England and the Crimean Peninsula of what is now the Ukraine. Oh, woe...I had cast a Russian colonel, a Polish captain in the Russian army, an American doctor from Tennessee, a Turkish couple, the Russian Sisters of Charity nuns, the odd French Zoave, a few French women cantinières and maybe a Sardinian or two for good measure. And who knew when the bloody Cossacks would come riding in and cause a ruckus?

Those colourful folks are on top of the variations that might show up from the different regions of Britain; after all, many thousands of soldiers went to The Crimea from all over England, Scotland, Wales--and Ireland, too.

How would they all speak? What would they say? What could possibly sound real? I still don't know; I just keep trying to get out of the way and let them find their voices. Slowly, slowly, each claims a voice. I hope they'll get it right!

The other problem I have with Dialogue goes deeper still--I have been Dreading actually sharing any of my writing with anyone. It's Difficult to imagining actually publishing a book, by whatever means, without actually Delivering a written word on the page, isn't it? Decidedly so. I joke about having the unpublished manuscript tossed on my funeral pyre but I'd really rather have someone read it (I think).

So...herewith...my first attempt at throwing a relatively small, inconsequential section of my novel out there for anyone who happens to come along and have the time and interest read it. It might work and it might not. I have about 20,000 words to cut, I'm guessing, and it could well be some or all of these.

This is about 2,000 words from the middle an early chapter. I picked it because it had a lot of Dialogue. Two young Coldstream Guards officers are riding off to meet a ship to sail to the Crimea (and war) the next morning. It's got children and adults, broken hearts, some past hurts, a broken almost-engagement, a lot of unresolved stuff and some good information about the longest river in Britain, and swans, in case you've been wondering about swans.

Am I feeling Despair that I ever had this idea? Yes. At the moment I am. But I'm going to DoItAnyway. Isn't that what the #AtoZChallenge is all about?

All that Dread aside, let me say that (1) I'm doing this just to do this and get over it; and (2) I welcome feedback from anyone who wants to send some. Hate it? That's OK. Please tell me why. Like it? What about it do you like? Feel free to email me at CynthiaReedWrites@gmail.com if you really want to rant. Or coo.

Click on Read More (below) to jump to the story excerpt.

COLDSTREAM: A Day At The River

(excerpt from Chapter 5)

Charles, armed with his own rug, came along with Gabriel and Lucas in tow to sit nearby--but up the riverbank just a little bit beyond Anna. She sensed their presence but looked straight ahead, across the water toward Arley Kings.

She’d prefer to be closer to her nieces and nephews but distance from Charles was a better idea.

Yesterday, when he’d surprised her in the garden, was quite enough. There was no point in being uncomfortable; far better to just ignore it and get through this one last day. She had enough on her mind; she was worried about Alex and would have to settle their mother's affairs without him.

“All the swans in England belong to the Queen and are protected by law,” she heard Charles say to Gabriel and Lucas. One of the twins had asked a question but Anna had heard neither the question nor which little voice it came from.

“Would someone get in trouble if he touched a swan?” asked Gabriel, clearly excited but wary of getting in trouble.

“Indeed, he could,” replied Charles seriously. “I believe the Queen is very proud of her swans and it would be a very serious offense indeed to cause trouble for one or try to capture it.”

“Could he eat it if he catched it?” Lucas enquired, the more moderate of the two.

“Oh, no, you wouldn’t consider doing that!” admonished Charles. ”And, I have it on great authority that they taste very very bad.”

“What is ‘great authority’?” Gabriel asked.

“Well,” said Charles patiently. “It’s rather like our queen, Victoria. She is a person of great authority.”

“Did the Queen tell you that the swans would taste very bad then? Did she eat one of her own swans?” piped Gabriel, sounding concerned.

“Ahh, I see your point,” said Charles. “No, I am sure Her Majesty has not. I expect that she has someone who knows a great deal about swans who has told her—with great authority—that they taste quite dreadful.”

“But how she knows? Did the man eat the Queen’s swan?”

Charles groaned and threw his head back. He doesn’t know how to answer the question, Anna thought smugly. He’s not used to children at all. It pleased her to hear Charles, always so cocksure, flustered by a small boy of three.

The children, having exhausted the information available on swans and secure in the knowledge that the wonders of the Crystal Palace awaited them one day soon, leapt up when they heard Grace call them to come see her completed work of art.

“Uncle Alex says I have talent,” she shrilled at her siblings from a few yards upriver. There was pride in her voice, both her artistic accomplishment and the recognition of her uncle clear to anyone listening.

“You must come see, oh, please do!”

They all hastened away, intrigued to know if they, too, might somehow be so recognised for something important or clever under the tutelage of their uncle-hero.

Charles cleared his throat. Anna sat unmoving, resolved to do so for as long as it took for him to move away and leave her alone.

“Isn’t it fascinating,” he began, “how the Severn has had such an influence on the history of England, has meant so much to this land and its people from the time of the Romans?”

Anna stared at the river, unmoved.

“You know, the Romans called her Sabrina after an old story of a nymph, called Sabrina, who was said to have drowned in the Severn. The Welsh call her Hafren after a legendary princess who they believe was likewise drowned. Do you suppose it’s true what they say?”

Anna continued to sit, following a water-logged branch as it worked its way downriver with the fast-running current. The swans and their signets were nowhere in sight. It had gone quiet and even the buzzing of insects had ceased.

“Anna, please,” Charles said at last, “may I come nearer and have a word?”

Out of the corner of one eye, Anna could see him rubbing the nape of his neck with his left-hand. She had forgot that he was left-handed. Time had passed and she was glad she had forgotten. She peevishly enjoyed his distress and wouldn’t mind if it continued a bit longer.

Anna heard the linen scrape against itself, heard his leather belt creak as Charles uncrossed and re-crossed his arms across his chest, adjusted his position on the slippery bank. Had she ever seen a Guardsman so flummoxed?

Charles drew a deep slow breath and exhaled long and evenly, controlled.

“Please, Anna, if only in the interest of your brother, my best friend and comrade-in-arms, may we please speak before it is tomorrow and Alex and I ride to Portsmouth for disembarkation. There is no more time. I will be gone and of no account to you then. So be it. But for your brother, I would have my say, I beg you.”

Anna pulled her legs closer to her chin and clasped her arms around her knees, smoothing the long cotton skirt and saying a little prayer that she wouldn’t slide down the slippery riverbank and embarrass herself yet again in front of this graceful officer. She already knew that she would be muddy when she stood and wasn’t ready to suffer further remarks on her state of dishabille or clumsiness.

She relented—but only because of her brother and her sudden realisation that this couldtruly be the last day she spent with either of them. There were enough regrets to go around. She didn’t need more on her conscience.

“Very well then,” she said, softening her shoulders and stretching her fingers toward the water as if unconcerned, “pray do have your say. And then let us leave it.”

Charles moved closer, slipping on the soft wet slope as he moved too quickly on the grass, as Anna had. She wanted to laugh but didn’t. In a moment, he was settled, coordinated and confident in his movement in a way she never felt in his presence.

He could see her profile, turned just slightly away from so that their eyes could not meet. Tendrils of dark blond hair clung to her forehead and temples, dishevelled by the sun and wind and damp from the sweat on her brow. She had removed her straw hat earlier whilst playing with the children and wished she had it now to further shield her face from his view.

He remembered what those soft curls felt like but pushed the memory of that evening out of his mind.

“Anna, many things have happened...”

“And not happened,” Anna spat, almost against her will and just loud enough so that he could hear and no one else. She inclined her head toward him but did not turn to allow her eyes to meet his.

“And not happened,” he said gently, “Yes. You are correct. And most of all for what has happened—to you, your family and more than anything for what happened to Nicholas…”

She stiffened at her little brother’s name and he stopped, noting the rigidity in her arms and how she gripped her knees more tightly. He knew it was wise to wait.

“Go on,” she said more levelly. “Say what you will say.”

“Thank you, Anna. And now there is the passing of your dear mother—I am deeply sad. You have my heartfelt condolences. Would that I could change any small…”

“There can be no changes. What’s done is done; the lost are gone. I only pray there will be no more,” she concluded, the breath whooshing from her as she worked to get the words out, to not cry. She hoped that he realised she meant Alex, specifically, and not him. She didn’t care what happened to him.

“I understand that, Anna. Please hear me. I only want to reassure you that, as Alexander’s friend and fellow officer, I will do anything and everything in my power to keep him safe from harm. It seems the only thing I can do, can say, to prove my devotion to him—and to you and your family—by way of some small recompense for all that has happened.”

Anna sat silently, unmoving, and thought about what Charles was saying. She acknowledged to herself the bond between her brother and his lifelong friend. There was no question of its strength, though she no longer wanted it to have anything to do with her.

Could they not be un-twined, she and Charles, the baronet-in-waiting she would have wed, or would they always somehow be strung together, two stones on the same chain, by virtue of their relationship to Alexander?

“Very well,” she said flatly, the words a staccato more harsh than necessary. “I acknowledge what you have said and thank you for your devotion to my brother.”

“And as to what happened between us,” he began...

“There is nothing that happened between us. Nothing,” she hissed, balling her fists even as she turned, against her own will, and met his eyes with her own steel. She ignored the plea she saw there.

“I was a fool and you played me for one. My father was a fool and your father and your conniving cousin—I won’t even say his name--similarly played him for one. Had we never come under the spell of the Barings—and for that I hold myself entirely responsible—Nicholas might be here, on the riverbank with the other children, longing for a trip to the Crystal Palace and wondering what a swan might be like served up for tea.”

Charles could not deny any of the things Anna had said. His face was ashen; he looked stung, someone not used to pain and uncertain what to do or say next. Anna felt alternately righteous and glad.

She hated herself for it, in that moment, but, at the same time, it sustained her and made her stronger. And she needed that right now, at whatever cost.

He swallowed and looked at her, took another deep breath. “Anna, you are a lovely young woman, full of life and you should be full of hope. If I could turn back the clock and alter the outcomes you believe I and my family have wrought, I would do so. In a single heartbeat. If I could right any wrongs, I would. You will not allow me. There are things I cannot even say—and I only hope that you will believe me when I tell you there are things you do not know. I pray that someday you will listen and know otherwise.”

Anna looked over her shoulder at him coldly; when she replied there was ice in her voice. Her words were precise, cadenced.

“Things I do not know?” she said? “Whatever on earth is there for me to know? My family is ruined, my parents are dead, my little brother lost and I find myself looking at a life and future quite alone, tainted by the brush of your family’s long reach as surely as the paper on Alex’s easel is tainted by the dirty brown paint with which he washes it. And, beyond that, my reputation sullied by your failure to follow through on a promise made to me.”

She paused, shaking. Her nostrils flared and she crossed her arms across her chest. Charles sat, expressionless, a blade of grass in his right hand consuming his attention.

He looked up at Anna slowly and dropped the grass. The smallest whiffle of a breeze caught it and moved it just out of reach.

“Is there more?” he asked softly, knowing there was but determined to remain calm.

Anna gathered her fury around her and turned slightly away again, tucking her skirts still more closely under her legs. She took a breath and her chest heaved, her shoulders squared.

“How could I not choose to care for my dying mother in favour of your family’s demands? How could your father dictate what I would or would not be as a wife to his precious son? How could the Barings dare to cheat the Athertons of their livelihood? Is this a basis for uniting two families?”

She paused, then thought better of it and plunged on.

“No, it is folly, Mr Baring, folly! You have done me wrong; make no mistake. And you say there are things I do not know? I know everything I need to know. Everything. It has all brought me to this sad and sorry place on this dreadful last day with my beloved brother, who I may never see again. This bloody war! Who knows what is to come of it? Who knows?”

With that, Anna put her head on her knees and began to cry. Without a sound, the aches and horrors of the past few years’ losses seeped, one by one, from her soul. She was certain she would rather join her mother in her grave than go forward but, from within, at some deeper level, she also recognised that she would go forward. She must simply continue to be resolute, to be distant, to be within herself until it all passed into something softer, something bearable, something she could live with.

Charles inched closer. Anna could feel the wet trampled long grass move behind her and heard the scuff of his boot against a stone. She tightened her arms around her knees and dug deep within some pool of resolve she imagined she had. A part of her would have fallen into his arms and sought what solace she might find there; but she was no longer a schoolgirl with a girlish fantasy. All of that was left behind. And she had learned her lesson.

“Do not come closer, Charles. Leave me be.”

Charles stopped and waited but did not retreat.

“I will accept your promise about Alexander. And I will thank you for that. But no more. I can give no quarter beyond that. What we held is lost. Gone. Go now, and leave me. I do not wish my family to see this upset today, of all days. I wish you safe passage and success in the path you have chosen. But this is the end. I have no more heart for you to break. I am weary of it.”

“Very well,” Charles said softly, his voice little more than a whisper. Anna thought it might break and hoped that it would. He would then have a match for her broken heart. Of course he could not take back the past. And she would not change the present.

Thank you. CynthiaReedWrites@gmail.com

"C": Crimea, Coldstream & Cardigan?

2013-04-03T08:23:00.005+01:00

#AtoZChallenge

I'm Cynthia, also with a "C". I'm writing a book about The Crimean Conflict called "Coldstream". Oh, yes, and there's that Cardigan thing.

My novel began as something of a lark. A challenge from a friend about writing a "quick historical romance". Who know it would fit the AtoZ Blog Challenge Day #3 so well!

Back in 2002, when I first wrote the synopsis and then put it away (and lost the challenge) I knew nothing about The Crimean War (1853-1856). Now I'm a paid-up member in good standing of The Crimean War Research Society (CWRS) and devour every quarterly journal and monthly newsletter when it arrives.

Sometimes I wonder: What on earth prompted me to write about The Crimean War? And then I remember. It was simple: an article in that day's newspaper, probably commemorating a battle or a birth or a new statue being erected in London 'in honour of'. More likely, looking back, it was a story about a woman named Mary Seacole that may have caught my eye.

So much for that sage and trusted advice to "write what you know". I didn't. Like most people (and probably you included) I knew that the Crimean War was about Florence Nightingale (the Lady with the Lamp) and The Charge of the Light Brigade (made famous by Alfred, Lord Tennyson's poem).

My book is about neither of those things.

I wrote the first 50,000 words of the book I call "Coldstream" during NaNoWriMo 2010 and, in the ensuing 2+ years, the scope seemed to grow and grow as my knowledge grew and my interest to know more increased exponentially. It took a while for it to become an obsession but, eventually, I caved in and I admit it: it's an obsession.

Yes, I've learned a lot since then. More than a lot. Enough to pepper 165,000 words (and cutting) of very rough manuscript with detail and information about this most fascinating of conflicts. Enough to fill boxes and binders and desktop PC folders with more than anyone would ever want to know. Except me. And anyone else who comes across it and thinks, "How did I misss that one?"

The most important thing I learned along the way is that this was an important war--for a lot of reasons. Though it almost seems like 'the war world history forgot' in many respects, nestled there in some backwater of Europe on a time continuum between the Battle of Waterloo and the The First World War, it's not that at all. It's a fascinating piece of history that can still teach us lessons and broaden our understanding of other conflicts--even today.

Here, then, an incomplete list of reasons and facts which led me to conclude that the Crimean War is fascinating, interesting and important to history:

A major underlying political cause of the war was disagreement over who controlled Jerusalem (not much has changed, has it?) Russia was willing to go to war against the Ottoman Empire; Britain, France and Sardinia jumped in to help the Turks. (Of course, it suited them to try and knock out Russia's Black Sea fleet as well...)
This was the first war with the media "embedded" on-site and sending reports back (via telegraph) instantly. (William Howard Russell, of the London Times, and others). Russell went on to cover the American Civil War as well.
It was the first major conflict to be photographed. Hundreds, if not thousands, of excellent images exist. (Roger Fenton and others). An interesting debate about one of Fenton's photographs was recently settled: the proof is here.
There are hundreds of untold stories of women in The Crimea which are fascinating and were virtually unknown until Helen Rapport Published No Place for Ladies: The Untold Story of Women in the Crimean War. The book was just re-leased on International Women's Day, March 7, and is available as an ePub, Kindle Version or as an Audible book. I have all three and it's a book about incredibly brave women which stands on its own, whatever your interest.
The Siege of Sebastopol--which is essentially what my book is centred on, was one of the classic sieges of all time, lasting 349 days.
The Siege was the subject of Russian soldier Leo Tolstoy's Sebastopol Sketches and the subject of the first Russian feature film, Defence of Sevastopol. (the Tolstoy book predates War and Peace and is fascinating--at least to me).
Sometimes referred to as one of the first "modern" wars, the Crimean War introduced technical changes which affected the future course of warfare, including the first tactical use of railways and the electric telegraph.
Major medical advances--such as the use of chloroform, medical ambulances, sanitation as a means of disease control, surgical techniques and more--were first used on a wide scale (and would be used in the American Civil War, less than ten years later, and then the First World War.)
About 40 American doctors traveled to the Crimea and worked on the side of the Russians (against England, France and Turkey). Nearly all died of disease; some of the survivors served in the American Civil War as well.
The American gun manufacturers made lots of money--Colt and other American companies sold weapons to both the Russians and the Allies so that they could kill each other. (this really shocked me, no question about it)
There was also a "Charge of the Heavy Brigade" and Tennyson wrote a poem about that, too. (It never caught on the way the other one did). If you like poetry, it's an interesting comparison to the other.
And, finally, several articles of clothing we still wear and use today came to us from the Crimean War: the balaklava (as in Battle of Balakalva), the cardigan (Lord Cardigan) and the raglan sleeve (so called after Lord Raglan, who'd lost an arm in the Napoleanic Wars and had a specific sleeve designed).

Oh, yes, about Mary Seacole. Still a subject of controversy, she was important, too. While not as famous as Florence Nightingale, Seacole definitely has her own place in history and in the hearts of those who served in the Crimea. (AND a new statue in London, itself the subject of controversy). Helen Rappaport's book has wonderful information about her, too. Mary's also got a nice part in my book...Helen just gets my undying gratitude for so much help with the research!

The A to Z Blog Challenge

2013-04-02T12:29:00.000+01:00

The Letter "B"

#AtoZChallenge

One down and twenty-five to go. Today is the letter B. For Bones. Or Books. Or Both.

Yesterday I bought an Audible copy of Natalie Goldberg's old classic, "Writing Down the Bones". First published in 1986, when I lived in Boise, Idaho, it (and nearly all of my hundreds of books) didn't make the cut when I moved to the UK in 1999. What was I thinking? I don't know--it was expensive and I was foolish.

Over the years, between then and 2011, when I moved to Malaysia, I re-purchased many of my old books, both books on writing and books not on writing. Mostly not on writing; at that time, busy working as a technical author and marketing maven wannabe, it would only have served to remind me that I wasn't writing the fiction I had long longed to write.

When we moved to Malaysia, I only brought two or three books, all for my camera and Photoshop (my own personal nemesis software). Everything else was sold on Amazon or Freecycled, though a few I-can't-live-without-these treasures remained behind in UK storage because we didn't think we'd be here long.

Yeah, right. And then it seemed we be'd here longer than planned. That's a good thing but, hey, my books! So I've been off re-re-buying (again) some of the key books--and some new ones--mostly as Kindle versions so I would never, ever, ever have to give them up again. Ever.

Last year I added, at the suggestion of Kuala Lumpur writing instructor and publisher extraordinaire, Sharon Bakar, of Word Works, the Kindle version of Goldberg's "Old Friend From Far Away". It's been great for inspiration and writing prompts. But I somehow didn't think to add the the Kindle version of "Bones". Why? I just didn't. I thought of it later and filed it away for "next time".

Next time arrived, right on schedule, yesterday. In an attempt to not do what I was supposed to be doing (writing) I checked my Audible member account and, deep joy, I had an unspent credit! Did Audible have "Bones"? Indeed they did; they had two versions! It was a sign. There's no going back from that sort of purchase indicator, is there? Now to choose which.

I'm glad I read the descriptions carefully--and here's the point of the "B is for Bones" blog post: the 2006 Audible edition (you should order it now!)* is a re-recorded version and, in it, Goldberg reflects on what she wrote fourteen years previously. Her commentary is wonderful.

Audible calls it a "collector's edition". I do, too. Whatever it is, it's fascinating to listen to; I close my eyes and have the sense that I'm sitting in a room listening to the Natalie Goldberg read to me and tell me what she thinks as a 50-year-old compared to what she felt when she wrote the original book at age 36. Her personal reflections add a lovely dimension to the book that's been called the "magic manual for all writers".

It was always great. But that made it even Better. You know, that's "B" for better.

* It's also on the US Audible site here. But it's on sale on the UK site.

The A to Z Blog Challenge Begins

2013-04-01T06:28:00.002+01:00

MONDAY, APRIL 1st: The Letter "A"

A to Z Challenge

I couldn't resist. When Rebecca Bradley, a crime novel writer I "met" during NaNoWriMo 2010, blogged that she was going to do this month-long blog challenge...well, off I went. I was the 1,103rd person to sign up (there are now 1,759) and here I am, on the first of April, wondering if I've lost my mind yet again.

Why did I sign up for it? I asked myself a few times over the past two weeks. The answer was easy, even if the execution of the month month of blogging didn't sound easy. But, hey, I'm just finishing another Deepak Chopra 21-Day Meditation Challenge, so why not?

And, I had been wanting, intending and even planning to go back to regular blogging. Not because I believe I have particularly wonderful things to say to the world at this time--I just wanna finish my novel!--but because I like the focus that the various challenges, courses and on-line projects I've done over the past two years bring to my writing life. So why not?

This blog, ReedWrites, is about my writing life. Which is actually, though filled with fits and starts over the past two years while I wasn't blogging, going pretty well. I am liking it and more determined than ever that this is what I do. I simply want to do it more and better--and think this challenge can be one more good way to do what I love to do and add another good habit at the same time.

The Blogging from A to Z Challenge, which you can read about here, asks two simple questions: Can you post every day except Sundays during the month of April? And, can you blog thematically from A to Z while you do it? (In a happy coincidence, most Aprils, with Sundays subtracted, have 26 days, one for each letter of the alphabet.)

Using this premise, then, today is April 1st and I am beginning with the letter A and it's something related to my theme which, very loosely, is "my writing life". I thought about choosing "Attention", which is something I struggle with endlessly, but it was too convenient to simply begin with the A to Z Challenge title itself to get myself fired up. And so I did. And now I am.

The point for me, like so many things in life, is simply to do it. So I am doing it. Not making a big deal about it, just setting a timer and telling myself I'll write till the bell rings and it ought to be under 500 words. The rules say it doesn't even have to be a word to meet the qualification--it can be a proper noun, the day's letter used as a symbol, or the letter itself. Latitude. I like latitude. It's good for Attitude. It's only the first and I've got a good Attitude.

Oops, there's the bell. Day 1, Letter A, job done. Thanks for reading! Oh, yeah, one more thing...

The ulterior motive disclaimer: It's common wisdom that authors need an on-line presence and ought to get more followers to that presence. So, if you arrived here, you're qualified! Please feel free to Share, Tweet, Follow, Sign-up or click on whatever button in the right-hand column strikes your fancy. With my gratitude and a deep bow.

Buying Another Shovel is Not Digging A Hole.

2011-07-30T05:40:00.000+01:00

Fellow on-line student and writer Steven Bluestone's words, posted in the ToDo Institute's Taking Action course forum earlier in the week, really hit home:

Buying another shovel is not digging a hole.

That one simple sentence says a lot. I am definitely a shovel purchaser, always off at the implement shop adding this or that to my collection.

In truth, perhaps I should have been a researcher. Or a research assistant? What is the correct term for someone who, given a thread of information, can go off and find all the bits and pieces to end up with both the warp and woof of an excellent piece of cloth? That's me, Alice, down the rabbit hole. I thrive on it.

I realise, as I write this, that it doesn't do to just blame myself for being inefficient and not getting the job done, which is sortof what I've been doing this past week (or quarter or half a year) while I've been enthralled with exploration and adventures into my topic. Why haven't I increased my word count this week? I asked, as if the number of words was the only measure of success at this juncture.

As I think back over my professional writing career -- the past two decades or so -- I know that everything I worked on as an author required some amount of research. Often, it required a lot. A few times, the learning and research was 90% of the job and the actual writing 10%. Though it seems strange now, that's the way it was. Sometimes, I was given piles of paper, schematics, competitive information and Powerpoint presentations by the client--while at othertimes, I was sent off to dig for the information, the diagrams, the statistics, the history, even the basics of the technology.

And, from all of that, I would craft a brochure, an annual report, a technical review, a training presentation, a glossy marketing piece, a white paper, a user manual or a whole campaign to reward the sales people who trained themselves and sold the largest number of the widgets that I was researching and writing about. I have some incredible experience in the high tech and telecommunications fields, come to think of it. Being a good researcher really helped.

Today, where I am in the novel (just under 79,000 words, headed towards 120,000 perhaps) suddenly feels much the same. I simply do not know all that I need to know and I now have to get the information. I began knowing nothing about this Crimean War thing beyond the intriguing overviews I'd read and the history that related to Florence Nightingale and Mary Seacole. I'd heard of Raglan and Cardigan but didn't hardly realise they were more than types of sleeves on a sweater.

Now I know a great deal about this 'conflict', along with my more specific recent work on the 349-day-long Siege and the City of Sebastapol itself (today spelled Sevastapol) in the Ukraine, or the Crimean Peninsula. Think Black Sea. Constantinople. That one. At last, I know where the harbour, barracks, trenches, city centre and cemeteries lay and how they were approached, defended, attacked, reapaired and attacked again.

I still don't know where the hospitals were located but, judging from the number of dead, I'll bet they weren't far from the cemeteries with all the mass graves. There's are books on the way that will give me that information--e.g. it turns out that Tolstoy (yes, that one) was stationed there and wrote an account of the siege. Plus, I've located an online seller of antiquarian maps who has an original, detailed Russian map from the period. What a find that could be!

The pile of documents I've printed, the megabytes of electronic books in .pdf format and in my Kindle application, the tiled maps I've lovingly printed, trimmed and taped together and hung on the walls--are all a testament to that long history of having to research everything before I write it. It's useful to have a lot of shovels if you're going to write historical fiction.

So, at the same time I am reminding myself that buying another shovel is not the same as digging a hole, I'm also accepting that I chose to write historical fiction--not a fluffy romance with no historical, costume or societal detail added--and that this care to detail and attention to accuracy is what I've been honing for the past twenty years. Indeed, it's part and parcel of what will make the story a good one. If I fail to provide it, my readers will be disappointed. Or there won't be any.

So I do seem to need lots of shovels. Note to Self: It's ok to get more shovels so long as I don't forget that the ultimate objective is to dig a great big hold and fill it with a wonderfully "sweeping" and accurate piece of historical fiction that tells the story of my heroine and her adventures in life against the broad expanse of this piece of world history which began as nothing to me and has now come very much alive for me.

I accept it. Last week I spent a lot of time and some money at the hardware store, arming myself. Coffee. Check. Shovels. Check. This week I will dig a big hole and fill it with all the things I've learned. Thanks, Steven, for reminding me!

I'm a flamingo now. And an early bird. And proud of it!

2011-07-23T05:43:00.002+01:00

This morning I wrote my daily "750words" for the 18th day in a row. On the 15th of July, I got my "flamingo" badge. On the 18th I got my "early bird" badge. For what? I don't know. I guess I got up early that day.

I don't know why 18 days in a row struck me as momentous except that, for perhaps the first time, I "just did it" this morning instead of thinking about it or, as sometimes happens, thinking about what I could do instead of doing it. Or how I could do it later. Or how my pencils needed sharpening and my desk needs tidying. Any excuse will do, as we all know.

Last night, it was after 10p.m. when I remembered I hadn't done my 750words. I sat down and did them.

Eighteen days, in the great scheme of things, isn't a lot. I have a Twitter contact, @ebenstorm, who's written 250,000 words since he began 750words.com. He must be a Golden Eagle. I live in awe and dream for the day and am happy to have my flamingo and chicken.

My number is 14,150. But I am proud of those words because they tell me that I can be consistent and I can change behaviours. I like that.

My hero: Buster Benson himself.

Three people had to tell me "you ought to do this" before I listened and did it. I'm glad I did. Thank you, three people.

The benefits for me fall into several categories:

.

It makes me aware--daily!--that I can sit down and write, in spite of excuses or distractions.

About half the time, I use my 750words to "talk" through questions or problems with my novel. Somehow, the answers appear.

About one-fourth of the time, I actually write text that IS intended for my novel and gets cut and pasted into my Scrivener manuscript.

About one-fourth of the time I just do stream-of-consciousness stuff, have an 'ain't it awful' whinge at myself or write about a family or personal issue that's troubling me just to get it off my chest.

750words is the brainchild of Buster Benson, who's also the creator of "HealthMonth, The Game", which I am also 'playing'. To say he's really onto something is an understatement. I think he's quite brilliant, especially for being such a young guy. For me, because the sites are relatively un-glitzy and ad-free, there are ways to connect to others and extra goodies to encourage players to communicate with each other, it's just plain fun. And it works.

Oh, yes, on HealthMonth we get 'life points' and fruit for performance (and get them taken away if we don't--but not to worry, we can give fruit to each other to 'heal' our compatriots). I have lots of fruit (and share it willingly) and still have life points left to see me through the month -- so it's clear that's working too.

And, if all that wasn't enough, one of my "A Round of Words in 80 Days" (ROW80) goals is to make weekly updates to my two blogs -- this one and my Malaysia blog. {You'll have to go there to see the photos of the Silvery Langurs I took earlier in the week, though).

I'm excited: I accomplished that goal, too, this week. No new badges, birds or bananas for it, though...just a really nice feeling of 'hey, I'm getting there'! And I am.

A Round of Words in 80 Days...Checking In

2011-07-13T15:31:00.000+01:00

I signed up for the A Round of Words in 80 Days challenge on Tuesday, July 5th so it's been a week and a day. As I've also been doing 750words.com and HealthMonth, I somehow nearly forgot to update this commitment as well. Tsk, tsk.

That's the BAD news. So far, I am unrepentant. The GOOD news is that since ROW80 began seven days ago, I've written just under 20,000 words. All right, 19,677. I thought I'd go over but today, well, events conspired, and I only managed 900 words. Never mind, tomorrow is another day. I am pleased.

As to my other goals (there were four, elucidated below to remind me) I am progressing those, though I really do need to get busy on the travel blog. I have some wonderful photos of a troop of fantastically tame Silver Leaf Monkeys (see left) at Bukit Melawati, near the West Coast of Malaysia, and they're just begging to be the next post topic. It was a very memorable time, up close and personal with those monkeys! I enjoyed them so much I am going back next week to take more photos.

If, of course, I keep my ROW80 projects on task!

Words, words, words...and then more words.

2011-07-11T05:07:00.001+01:00

Five-thousand four hundred and thirty-three. While I might wish it was dollars or pounds won in a lottery, alas, it's only the number of words I wrote yesterday.

Lotus, Orchid Garden, Kuala Lumpur

Only? I'll take it! Finally, my writing is finally taking on a life of its own. It wants to be there and wants to get done. I've struggled for the four months since we moved to Malaysia to make it a regular habit; I've longed for this book to become my passion and for it and its characters to compel me forward. I couldn't understand why it seemed like other people wrote as if chased through the woods by banshees, driven to get their story on paper, while I just fiddled around with it and "worked" on it when the mood suited me or there wasn't some charity project to complete, a dozen emails to answer, photos to edit, days out with friends...whatever.

Understanding may be coming at last. Knowing that I am a more than competent "writer"--having made a very decent living at it for a couple of decades--I rather assumed that turning my attention would be much the same sort of process. An assignment, a timeline, tools, a project brief, research, a finished product, some rounds of review, critique and edits--finalisation and, kerblooey, a cheque for the bank account and a pat on the back.

I always found it pretty easy. I was the "Oh, let's call her. She'll get this done!" person. That's how it works, isn't it?

Well, no. After some months of barely discernible progress on my own work of historical fiction, begun during NaNoWriMo 2011, I was flummoxed. Did I really want to write? What was wrong with me? I had 50,000 words. I was NaNoWriMo winner, comfortably resting on that laurel and occasionally wearing the t-shirt. But, while I was happy to research my topic and learn all about The Crimean War, medical practices in 19th century England, how to load and fire an Enfield rifle...all that effort wasn't being tranformed into words on paper. Why wasn't it happening? Where were the other 50,000 words?

OK. Panic sets in. On the theory that anything is better than sitting around, paralysed, I signed up for a couple of online writing classes through the UK-based Writing Our Way Home. Excellent stuff! I spent the months of April and May observing things around me and learning with Fiona and Kaspa, respectively, working in small groups exploring spirituality via writing and then moving into four different Japanese forms of writing and therapeutic writing.

Finally, I was getting somewhere. Since I'd expended so much energy taking photographs as we learned our way around Malaysia, written a bunch of poems and "small stones" in the WOWH workshops AND was dealing with a mother who really wanted me to be in California and not here...I self-published a book of photos and poems from my time here specifically for my parents, daughter and grandchildren. It was a hit.

But why wasn't a novel getting written? I didn't have writer's block. I had a story and something to say. I can sit down and write a 2,000 word email before breakfast. I am nothing if not prolific when it comes to spewing out words. In fact, I'd benefit from some genetic splicing involving the brevity gene, thank you.

On June 6th, I began a third on-line month-long course, this one through The ToDo Institute in Vermont, USA. It was called "Taking Action: Finishing the Unfinished". The course is based on the Japanese therapies of Naikan and Morita. Participants pick a project--of any persuasion--that just ain't getting done. And they learn how to do it in spite of themselves. Hmmmm. That sounded like just the thing for me. I signed up.

Wow. The course is finished. The cumulative result is amazing. I spent most of this past month doing small tasks, researching things about the Crimean War and Victorian England that I did need to know--all in manageable chunks and all while learning to deal with a lot of negative feelings, project-prohibiting strategies I use--and a whole lot more.

How did it get easy when it seemed so hard? Well, one of the quotes that sticks with me from the course is that "We can do hard." (Bo Lozoff). And guess what? I can do hard. Ironically, of course, it turns out it's not that difficult after all. In the words of Shoma Morita, PhD, “Confirm purpose, pay attention to reality, and do what needs doing next.” Course co-leader Loraine adds: "Rinse. Repeat."

Along the way, I picked up several significant management strategies (time, project, goals) from the course and the other participants in it, too. My whole day--in fact, my whole life--is looking just a bit different now as a result. It's healthier, I'm healthier--and a manuscript is moving toward completion. A good result.

And, speaking of results...in the past four days I've written 2,743 + 2,804 + 5,462 + 5,433 words. That's a total of 16,442 words in four days, or over 4,100 words per day. I'd hoped that I could average 3,000 per day so have, frankly, been a little surprised by the total. But, like I said, I'll take it.

Yes, I've already begun today's work on the novel and now I'm keen to get back to it. One of my resolves was to blog more consistently so I am taking a break to share the outcome. Being a zealot once converted, I'll post more specifics but, at the moment, it's time to get back to the work at hand. I really do want to finish this book before November's NaNoWriMo, when I'd like to start a new project and, hopefully, struggle a lot less with getting to that page that said "THE END".

A Round of Words in 80 Days...Colour Me Signed Up!

2011-07-05T07:41:00.000+01:00

A Round of Words in 80 days (ROW80), or, as author Kristin Lamb called it in her blog, "Everybody was Kung-Fu Writing–A Round of Words in 80 Days" has officially begun.

As Kristin put it, author and originator Kait Nolan "has come up with a new writing challenge that appreciates that most of us have a life".Indeed, we do and thanks, Kait, for starting it and thanks, Kristin, for your work that made me aware of it.

Interested? Can't wait? Want to join in? Sign up here.

Since it officially opens on July 4th and it's technically still July 4th in the US for another hour and 10 minutes (though it's June 5th in Malaysia) I decided that it was kismet that I happened to see it and, as the ToDo Institute on-line class called Taking Action (it's for procrastinators and I qualified ever so easily) ends on the 6th, ROW80 sounds like the next good thing to keep me moving forward on my novel and other projects.

If I've learned one thing in my four months of freedom to write in Malaysia, it's that I need deadlines to work to and challenges to rise to. I've taken three back-to-back courses and all have contributed something to the process.

So, herewith, my goals for the 80 days of this installment of A Round Of Words in 80 Days. Using an online countdown timer, I believe this is September 22, 2011 (or the 23rd for me!)

TRAVEL ARTICLE (Ruby's Resort): finish the draft, edit it, select the photos from my Zenfolio Gallery and submit to MANZA Magazine by 20th July.
NOVEL (Coldstream): Write/research/edit for a minimum of two hours per weekday, using the "Pomodoro" time management technique and completing four focused pomodoros minimum each weekday. Weekends are dependent on home schedule but read at least one article or chapter of research materials per weekend day if not actively writing. Probably another 50K words are required, plus extensive research into several aspects of the Crimean War and Victorian England in the 1850s. Ideally, I'd like to have at least 75,000 words by 22nd September. Some text presently in the novel will naturally be cut in the editing process.
TRAVEL BLOG (RoadNoise): Post a minimum of twice per month, weekly if possible. Write shorter blog posts than in the past and get in the habit of regular posts. Use own photos, continuing Photoshop training and practice. Promote with weekly tweets and Facebook pages. Grow views per month to 100 by 22nd September.
WRITING BLOG (this one!) Update ROW80 progress weekly. Triple follower count (10 to 30).
POETRY: Complete Writing Our Way Home course, "Writing Ourselves Alive". Use poetry from this class, along with ongoing photographs taken in Malaysia, to complete Volume II of "Poems and Photos". Drop photos and poems into BookSmart and (self) publish/print by September 10th.
TRAVEL WRITING: Attend Malaysian Association of Tour & Travel Agents (MATTA) Travel fair in Kuala Lumpur for one day, August 12, 13 or 14. Gather information and talk to travel magazines, websites, airlines, operators etc. Within two weeks, have a list of six potential articles to write and pitch for submission. Have two articles in draft form by September 22nd.

Ahhh, the dizzying heights! Ohhhh, the hot air! Well, then, let the adventure begin. Eighty days and a round of words. Yes, please! And if you think YOU want to, click here and see how simple it is.

'Small Stones' and Big Announcements...so what's up with Fiona & Kaspa?

2011-06-01T05:35:00.000+01:00

Kaspa & Fiona have taken over my blog for today, because they need our help. I think they must have noticed that I've certainly not been using it!

I've just taken two back-to-back courses with (first) Fiona and (second) Kaspa and they were terrific courses AND instructors. If you're interested in writing, or exploring your own abilities and/or the Eastern writing traditions, it's definitely a "recommend".

So, what's up then? OK, since you asked...here's their message...

Fiona and Kaspa are both on a mission to help the world connect with the world through writing. They are also getting married on Saturday the 18th of June. (Big congratulations, guyz!)

For their fantasy wedding present, they are asking people across the world to write them a ‘small stone’ and post it on their blogs or on Facebook or Twitter.

A small stone is a short piece of observational writing – simply pay attention to something properly and then write it down. Find out more about small stones here.

If you’re willing to help, we’d love you to do things:

1) Re-post this blog on your own blog any time before June the 18th and give your readers a chance to hear about what we’re doing. You can simply copy and paste the text, or you can find the html here.

2) Write us a small stone on our wedding day whilst we’re saying our vows and eating cake, post it on your blog, and send it to us.

You can find out more about our project at our website, Wedding Small Stones, and you can also read our blog at A River of Stones.

We also have a July challenge coming soon, when we’ll be challenging you to notice one thing every day during July and write it down.

Thank you for listening, and we hope we’ll be returning from our honeymoon to an inbox crammed with small stones, including yours.

Kaspa & Fiona

Resolution v Commitment: 'What's the Difference' Anyway?

2011-01-02T12:16:00.001+00:00

My copy of the New Oxford Dictionary ("A landmark in the description of English" it proclaims) was one of the first things I bought when I moved to England; it came with a Thesaurus and a volume of Quotations. It was a great deal from The Times, which I used to read manically every Sunday in my "bloom where you're planted" attempt to fit in and speak the language.

I never manage to find a place to put said OED and its four million words on my work table (note to Self: do some filing and carry cups and glasses to kitchen, untangle all the electronic as gadget cables as a further delaying tactic.). Usually I just go to www.dictionary.com when I need to look up a word.

But, this once, just now and in honour of the New Year, I did.

Rewind (whirring sounds here) to one o'clock in the morning on the second of January. Last night. I woke and discovered that NPR's Prairie Home Companion was over and I'd missed 85% of it yet again (it comes on here from 11-1am so I am hard-pressed to stay awake for it; as a result, I record it with iTuneRadio on my iTouch and listen later).

Because this is what the mind does when it awakes to silence and darkness, I continued my self-directed guilty tirade that I hadn't done any resolving for the New Year. In fact, here it was officially the 2nd of January in GMT-land and I was still getting Facebook notices about my fellow writers busily making resolutions, even when they proclaimed a distaste and an aversion for them--and sometimes marvelled how they didn't work anyway.

My mind and ego steeled themselves. I was not going to succumb to the angst of the potential guilt at not having written a list of resolutions in a blog, even as it occurred to me that I actually had written some in a wild attempt to win a fellow writer's contest. Well, I consoled myself, it was one of the requirements of the competition and I was compelled to comply if I wanted a chance at winning the prize.

Part of me railed against my own logic. Was it just another excuse, like having the 'fat free' cookie(s) fully aware that they still have 100 calories each? Or the 'sugar free' cookies which still have 100 calories and taste good because of the fat and additives? [I'm good at that self-deception stuff].

"Well, never mind," I exclaimed, "you are committed to a course of action for 2011. You know what it is. You don't need to make a list of resolutions that might only encourage you, subconsciously, to fail yet again." And so on.

So there I was, awake yet unresolved. What to do, what to do? I happened to be listening to an NPR station, WNPR, which next aired a programme I'd never heard before--"Says You!"--and so I listened to that for a while, thinking I'd go back to sleep.

First up was a game called "What's The Difference". Panelists were challenged to explain the difference between pairs or words: generosity vs altruism; statue vs sculpture; recital vs concern. And so on. Sometimes it was easy and, sometimes, it was more difficult than I imagined.

What, then, I wondered, is the difference between resolution and commitment? Am I only fooling myself with my 'commitments'? Are they just like the calories I can so easily ignore?

Ahhh, the OED will know. I listened to the show, added it to my 'listen list' to record from afar and decided to research the show and the terms in the morning. And here I am. Excited, this is a rare chance to actually heft the thing out of its ball-footed, glass-fronted carved Victorian oak bookcase home (an eBay steal four years ago and my favourite piece of furniture in the world ever since). I had a plan. I would open it, first to the Rs and then to the Cs. Then I'll know. Maybe.

"RESOLUTION > Noun. (1) a firm decision to do or not to do something: she kept her resolution not to see Anne any more ¦ a New Year's resolution."

"COMMITMENT > (1) the state or quality of being dedicated to a cause or activity: the company's commitment to quality ¦ I could not fault my players for commitment."

Of course, in a tome that large, there are other definitions for each--but these are the first definitions listed so they'll do for my purposes.

My conclusion? I have actually done both this year with regard to my writing. I have made a firm decision to move forward with writing goals I've held for a long time (complete two novels and several other smaller pieces I've begun) AND I have completely dedicated myself to that activity with a series of completed or planned actions (leaving paid employment with my husband's support; networking with other writers; taking a writing course; JanNoWriMo to follow NaNoWriMo success, etc).

This was a good exercise for me. It may explain why I've not completed other long-term goals. I think I'll look at the rest of the non-list of unresolved items in my mind (and Outlook Task List) and see whether I have both of the elements I need to make them realities.

Happy New Year. May all your resolutions find commitment--and success--in 2011.

What on earth am I doing with a second blog...or is it really the third?

2010-12-29T11:39:00.001+00:00

Well, that *is* the question. And I have answers for it, even if they are only just now settling in with me. I can see the point of it, having spent the last few months getting serious about writing 'for myself' (as opposed to writing commercially for clients or employers) and beginning the educational process about just how it is that writers, these days, go about promoting their work and themselves on the way to that lofty goal: achievement of publication of a work of fiction.

Why I couldn't be content with simply supporting myself as a "technical marketing author" is something I've put to bed. I did it, I did it well, I enjoyed it. I won't turn down work. But it was never where my heart wanted to go and decades of thrashing about it, in therapy and out, have finally binned the notion that it would be Enough. I want to write and publish a novel, whether self-published or a global bestseller. End of story.

Or a new beginning. So here goes.

I owe a lot to NaNoWriMo. Not only did it actually motivate and guide me through to the end of the 'first draft' stage, but it put me in touch with lots of people who are doing what I am doing--some with far more success, lots who are about equal, and some who are even newer to the craft than I am.

So, why another blog? First, I need to write about my writing. But it keeps getting mixed up with my travel blog, which is really a vehicle to share my travel experiences and to attempt to showcase my renewed interest in photography. I've been blogging a bit about my recent experiences in Malaysia with the resurrected "Road Noise" concept I originally began back in the late 90s when I sold my house in Boise, bought a motorhome and travelled about the US as a freelance writer, seeing the sights and occasionally stopping back in Boise or Spokane to do "real work" for a while and then hitting the road again.

I should congratulate myself. I was ahead of my time! Using simple email and with the main purpose of keeping family and friends abreast with whatever I was up to, I grew my mailing list to perhaps 50 people who cared about what I was doing, or were amused by what I wrote or perhaps wanted to sell me something. It didn't go "viral" as there was no such thing in 1996. But it got forwarded and people I didn't know asked to be added to the distribution list which, at the time, was an aol account.

It was fun (I loved it!) and there were almost no photos and certainly no graphics involved with it. After all, this was a time when I was lucky to get a 360 baud transmission line via my first AT&T mobile phone in the first place from the middle pf nowhere. And, often, for a week or more on the road, there was no way to connect. I couldn't even send files back to my agency but, instead, would find the nearest Fed-X office or drop site, even if in the smallest town in Montana, and send an overnight letter packet. The agency would send the edits or corrections, generally a printed piece, back to me at the 'next town along the way' or wherever I thought I'd be on a given date. We'd synch via phone in the meantime.

During that period, I began 'Road Noise' and it was about motorhoming around the Western United States in a 28 ft Class C motorhome seeing the mountains, rivers and trees. And, sometimes, counting mosquitoes whilst marvelling at the amusing nature of my fellow travellers and myself.

When I moved to the UK, in 1999, I continued 'Road Noise' in order to keep in touch with the folks at home in the US. It evolved into silly things like "Driving on the Wrong Side of the Road Noise" and gave me an outlet for sharing stories about my various perceived inabilities to fit into English society, to understand the native cultural anomolies where I'd landed and to share the differences and wondrous or more often simply confounding things I'd discovered.

I look back at the various Road Noise iterations over perhaps seven or eight years and I am proud of them, even at the same time I feel sad that I lost the impetus of writing about change and newness (indeed, looking back now, seems that was exactly what drove me to write) as I settled further and further into a 'normal life' with new husband, dogs, step-children, grandchildren afar--and gave up my nomadic ways.

A few months ago everything changed again. No, not another change in relationship for once. Indeed, my past writing has always been driven by a break-up and the resultant pain, anxiety or depression--but, instead, a new opportunity for my husband to move and work in Malaysia for a year or perhaps more.

Suddenly, after eight or so years of relative quiet on the written front, other than my commercial writing as a contractor, employer or freelancer over the years in the UK, along came Change, once again, to prompt me to move my long-term goals forward.

The decision was made. I had ended my most recent marketing contract and didn't look for a new one. Scary stuff. We began the process of selling the house, putting things in storage and finding out how to ship two large woolly beasts to Southeast Asia--and how to deal with them and the climate once there. Derek started spending time in Kuala Lumpur in July, working with the team he was going to manage there. We put a plan together and it was approved. We will be living there, longish-term, from March 1, 2011.

I went along on the second trip to check it out and househunt while Derek worked and, as the fates arranged it, shortly before finalising our travel plans, along came this thing called NaNoWriMo. Left with no excuse to not do it, and all the opportunity in the world to do it, I took the challenge and signed up, along with over 200,000 other people worldwide. No one was more astonished than I when, come November 27th, I was able to upload and validate a 50,000+ word draft. I ordered the t-shirt. I downloaded the winner's logo. What elation!

Along the way, I began a blog about my experiences there, built on an abandoned wordpress blog I began when a friend and I did a Danube River cruise a few years back. It's here for the intrepid amongst you. But it felt like people who were interested in reading about my travels (and some said they were) weren't interested in all the minutae of what I fancied 'the writing life'. It took over everything.

I had rented a special zoom-telephoto Nikon lens for the trip to try it out with my D40X. It was definitely a cut above anything else I'd had--and I took some of the best photos I ever have. Excited, I began a new and glitzier Zenfolio gallery to showcase the Malaysia and other photos for family and friends. At the end of November, I returned to the UK and signed up for a day-long Nikonians seminar on digital photography and put everything I wanted on my Amazon Wish List for Christmas--including that zoom telephoto lens.

I've been back from Malaysia for a month now and leave again in two weeks for another trip there. I haven't accomplished as much on the novel draft as I envisaged. It has been a busy time and, of course, I can claim that the holidays interfered. They did. But at the same time, while I was not working on it, I was doing research for it, edited some of a fellow author's new work-in-progress, learned about self-publication, caught up with what authors are doing and how they're getting published, got more serious about social media...and so on.

And all of that action which seemingly accomplished little toward my goal of "revised draft" led me to this place, right here, right now when colleagues on a Facebook page of fellow unpublished authors, hosted by Diane Lebow, suggested that when one finds the writing progress stalled, the best thing is to do other things and just write.

And I did. Yesterday I added an unwritten blog post to the Malaysia blog. (If you want to know about dining from banana leaves instead of plates, that's the place to be right now.) Today, I woke up and decided to start a blog where most of my blogging author friends hang out and blog: blogger.com.

And guess what? This is it. I hope you enjoyed reading it because writing it has, indeed, rekindled the fire to get back to the main projects I intend to finish and publish.

So thank you, Diane, Rebecca, Brooke, Shannon, Nancy, Julie, Allison and all the others at Thursday's Novelists. It worked.