Hello and Happy Friday,
This is the last time I’ll be writing from this location. I'll be moving to a new site, a change/new job, on July 1st. I’m not happy about it but it’s a job and I’m very grateful these days to have one—just about any kind—until things look up. Though the only way this happens is that you do what you need to do to find a better positiong for yourself or start your own business or do what it takes to move forward, make your own life what you want it to be because this is the only way it’ll happen.
It’s the same with the writing. The only time your books, plays, short stories get written is when you do the work, write, then re-write and re-write and keep on through the challenges until your work is where you want it to be—no different from getting your life where you want it to be; a good place for yourself and your family.
Write and always keep of the good fight to do more and be more.
If you have any comments or suggestions I have a new e-mail address at: mathewsla@hotmail.com
Until next time, God willing.
Friday, June 26, 2009
Friday, June 19, 2009
Hello and Happy Friday,
Here is the rest, I hope you like it.
Less Than (continued)
I know you’ve guessed ‘the until’. Yes, I saw the numbered white appear over Clare’s head. I shouldn’t have been surprised to see it, though it sometimes caught me off guard; yet I was surprised because I loved her. I had fallen deep though I hadn’t spoken more than a word or two to her or looked into that lovely face for more than 5 seconds. I’d passed their table many times, walked by her back memorizing its shape, the straight, smooth vertebrae; wanting to touch that warm vulnerable spot that was the nape of her neck, her hair parting against it. I’ve never fallen in love at first sight though I’ve been in love before, it just never lasted and not just because I might know why she shouldn’t buy that new car next year.
I adored this woman whom I knew nothing about except for how long she would live. I needed to know her, to find out if she was happy and if she wasn’t I would make her happy for as long as I could. I needed, was desperate, to do this. And I understood it just wasn’t for Clare--because of how I felt--it was also for those whom the numbered white appeared and I was helpless to do a damn thing.
So the next time she came in alone—before the Timothy-Dalton-look-alike-arrived—and sat down at her table; me watching her from behind the kitchen door, oblivious to the noise from the staff; I took a deep breath, walked out and over to her. Pulling out the chair facing her I sat down. She looked startled at first then calmed. She had seen me around of course.
“My name is Fletcher,” I began. “I’m the manager here.”
“I know,” her eyes I saw were the color of summer leaves. “Sherry told me. I asked because you’re always here, you say hello to everyone with a smile and mean it.”
Caught off guard by the fact she’d noticed me. “It’s a pleasure to do it; I want every one to come back.”
“Like we do.”
“Like you do.”
“What do you want?”
I went for it. “Whatever you want.” I glanced up and saw him coming toward us. “To make you happy; for as long as I can.”
There was silence; we stared at each other until she said, “I love Coney Island.”
The End
Finally.
If you have any comments or suggestions I have a new e-mail address at: mathewsla@hotmail.com
Until next time, God willing.
Here is the rest, I hope you like it.
Less Than (continued)
I know you’ve guessed ‘the until’. Yes, I saw the numbered white appear over Clare’s head. I shouldn’t have been surprised to see it, though it sometimes caught me off guard; yet I was surprised because I loved her. I had fallen deep though I hadn’t spoken more than a word or two to her or looked into that lovely face for more than 5 seconds. I’d passed their table many times, walked by her back memorizing its shape, the straight, smooth vertebrae; wanting to touch that warm vulnerable spot that was the nape of her neck, her hair parting against it. I’ve never fallen in love at first sight though I’ve been in love before, it just never lasted and not just because I might know why she shouldn’t buy that new car next year.
I adored this woman whom I knew nothing about except for how long she would live. I needed to know her, to find out if she was happy and if she wasn’t I would make her happy for as long as I could. I needed, was desperate, to do this. And I understood it just wasn’t for Clare--because of how I felt--it was also for those whom the numbered white appeared and I was helpless to do a damn thing.
So the next time she came in alone—before the Timothy-Dalton-look-alike-arrived—and sat down at her table; me watching her from behind the kitchen door, oblivious to the noise from the staff; I took a deep breath, walked out and over to her. Pulling out the chair facing her I sat down. She looked startled at first then calmed. She had seen me around of course.
“My name is Fletcher,” I began. “I’m the manager here.”
“I know,” her eyes I saw were the color of summer leaves. “Sherry told me. I asked because you’re always here, you say hello to everyone with a smile and mean it.”
Caught off guard by the fact she’d noticed me. “It’s a pleasure to do it; I want every one to come back.”
“Like we do.”
“Like you do.”
“What do you want?”
I went for it. “Whatever you want.” I glanced up and saw him coming toward us. “To make you happy; for as long as I can.”
There was silence; we stared at each other until she said, “I love Coney Island.”
The End
Finally.
If you have any comments or suggestions I have a new e-mail address at: mathewsla@hotmail.com
Until next time, God willing.
Monday, June 15, 2009
Hello happy Monday I hope,
"Less Than" continued.
Capistrano’s is a bistro that serves simple fare: pot roast and new potatoes, hearty vegetable soups, sandwiches with fresh bread, homemade cakes and pies; nothing too fancy but all cooked with the healthiest, leanest ingredients we could buy. You’ve heard it’s only a good idea to partner up with your best friends if you don’t want to be friends long, but we did it anyway and it’s been successful which is a plus since its my life.
I arrive there usually by 7 to meet with Charles and Janice to discuss the day’s operations, the day's menu and the previous night’s business we had already discussed the night before. I go over the receipts, review the staff and do other managerial duties, enjoying most of them.
It’s not a big place, yet just right, well-lighted with windows all around that bring in the sun. We wanted to make it a ‘clean, well-lighted place’ a la Hemingway and it’s full of warm sun even when it’s gone. It’s inviting, a place to relax and breathe for a while and not just for the clientele. I love its atmosphere, the feel and look of it. Sometimes I'll sit by the window at my favorite table by the coffee bar and watch the room, what people are eating and drinking and if they're enjoying it.
At other times I’ll sit over my black coffee, very still, staring out at the people moving along the street, some with the numbered white fluttering over their heads. The numbers that brilliant black Modern.20: 40, 27, 6, 71, 18, 1 and on and on. It’s not as if I see them all the time—thank Heaven—marking the end. For the most part I’ve learned to live with them or even--on my best days--not really see them, more like catching something from the corner of my eye I refuse to heed. It’s the only way I can live a normal life.
We have regulars; are lucky to have them. There's a group of retirees, four men, all who seemed old enough to have been retired for twenty years or more. They pay for their first cup of coffee and cinnamon scones but get anything extra on the house. They show up at least six days a week and if one is missing; Lila, who works the coffee bar and who knows them by first name, would ask after him and they always appreciated the asking.
There is Wayne and Steve, office workers from Regus who come in for the lunch special; who tell bad jokes to each other and anyone else who'd listen; jokes they think are hilarious.
Do I see the numbered white over any of them? Yes…and no. I saw it materialize over Wayne and two of the retirees but I looked away, willed it away so I never got their numbers and can greet them with a genuine smile untinged with sad hopelessness.
So we have our regulars, most I was used to seeing, even glad to see except for one; I was not just glad to see her but had come to a ‘need’ to see her.
Clare.
When I first saw her, it was Wednesday, the 23rd. She walked in on his arm and I glanced at them because I was counting glasses behind the bar and went immediately back to it. I knew they were new customers, new faces which was fine; I was glad for it and hoped they’d be repeaters, this was my only interest in Clare…at first.
From that day on the two would come in once or twice a week. She always held onto his arm and he would seat her first like a gentleman before taking his. They would sit across from each other, their faces very close with her looking directly at him and no one else; her face so tensely attentive on his it was as if he were her whole world. He looked to be in his late thirties, in good shape, with brown hair swiped with gray; he reminded me of the 4th James Bond, Timothy Dalton. It was she though that drew me of course. I began to really look at her, then openly stare even when I tried not to.
She was New York City attractive: slim, but shapely in the stylish clothes of the city girl. Yet, it was her face of course that captured me. She had long black hair and even, delicate features, the face of a smiling, open, unworldly Midwestern girl used to wide spaces, gentle turns of neighborliness, virginal blankets of snow. A face that knew no unkindness, no darkness, no pain; I grew to be fascinated by that lovely, innocent face.
Since they sat at the same table almost each afternoon, Sherry, the waitress who stationed the area, began to tell me; after they’d departed of course, what they had talked about, argued over, laughed about.
Sherry told me her name.
“I heard him call her, Clare,” Sherry said, “That’s it.”
And it was perfect. Until…
Finishing up--I hope--in the next installment.
If you have any comments or suggestions I have a new e-mail address at: mathewsla@hotmail.com
Until next time, God willing,
Lori
"Less Than" continued.
Capistrano’s is a bistro that serves simple fare: pot roast and new potatoes, hearty vegetable soups, sandwiches with fresh bread, homemade cakes and pies; nothing too fancy but all cooked with the healthiest, leanest ingredients we could buy. You’ve heard it’s only a good idea to partner up with your best friends if you don’t want to be friends long, but we did it anyway and it’s been successful which is a plus since its my life.
I arrive there usually by 7 to meet with Charles and Janice to discuss the day’s operations, the day's menu and the previous night’s business we had already discussed the night before. I go over the receipts, review the staff and do other managerial duties, enjoying most of them.
It’s not a big place, yet just right, well-lighted with windows all around that bring in the sun. We wanted to make it a ‘clean, well-lighted place’ a la Hemingway and it’s full of warm sun even when it’s gone. It’s inviting, a place to relax and breathe for a while and not just for the clientele. I love its atmosphere, the feel and look of it. Sometimes I'll sit by the window at my favorite table by the coffee bar and watch the room, what people are eating and drinking and if they're enjoying it.
At other times I’ll sit over my black coffee, very still, staring out at the people moving along the street, some with the numbered white fluttering over their heads. The numbers that brilliant black Modern.20: 40, 27, 6, 71, 18, 1 and on and on. It’s not as if I see them all the time—thank Heaven—marking the end. For the most part I’ve learned to live with them or even--on my best days--not really see them, more like catching something from the corner of my eye I refuse to heed. It’s the only way I can live a normal life.
We have regulars; are lucky to have them. There's a group of retirees, four men, all who seemed old enough to have been retired for twenty years or more. They pay for their first cup of coffee and cinnamon scones but get anything extra on the house. They show up at least six days a week and if one is missing; Lila, who works the coffee bar and who knows them by first name, would ask after him and they always appreciated the asking.
There is Wayne and Steve, office workers from Regus who come in for the lunch special; who tell bad jokes to each other and anyone else who'd listen; jokes they think are hilarious.
Do I see the numbered white over any of them? Yes…and no. I saw it materialize over Wayne and two of the retirees but I looked away, willed it away so I never got their numbers and can greet them with a genuine smile untinged with sad hopelessness.
So we have our regulars, most I was used to seeing, even glad to see except for one; I was not just glad to see her but had come to a ‘need’ to see her.
Clare.
When I first saw her, it was Wednesday, the 23rd. She walked in on his arm and I glanced at them because I was counting glasses behind the bar and went immediately back to it. I knew they were new customers, new faces which was fine; I was glad for it and hoped they’d be repeaters, this was my only interest in Clare…at first.
From that day on the two would come in once or twice a week. She always held onto his arm and he would seat her first like a gentleman before taking his. They would sit across from each other, their faces very close with her looking directly at him and no one else; her face so tensely attentive on his it was as if he were her whole world. He looked to be in his late thirties, in good shape, with brown hair swiped with gray; he reminded me of the 4th James Bond, Timothy Dalton. It was she though that drew me of course. I began to really look at her, then openly stare even when I tried not to.
She was New York City attractive: slim, but shapely in the stylish clothes of the city girl. Yet, it was her face of course that captured me. She had long black hair and even, delicate features, the face of a smiling, open, unworldly Midwestern girl used to wide spaces, gentle turns of neighborliness, virginal blankets of snow. A face that knew no unkindness, no darkness, no pain; I grew to be fascinated by that lovely, innocent face.
Since they sat at the same table almost each afternoon, Sherry, the waitress who stationed the area, began to tell me; after they’d departed of course, what they had talked about, argued over, laughed about.
Sherry told me her name.
“I heard him call her, Clare,” Sherry said, “That’s it.”
And it was perfect. Until…
Finishing up--I hope--in the next installment.
If you have any comments or suggestions I have a new e-mail address at: mathewsla@hotmail.com
Until next time, God willing,
Lori
Friday, June 05, 2009
Hello and Happy Friday,
Less Than (continued)
Thank God? Thank Allah? I don’t know. I’ve never dug deeply into my ‘extreme sixth sense’ to consider if it’s a gift or a curse. I’ve prayed about it though, to whom? It didn’t matter, I just prayed for it to go away.
I finally understood what the numbered white actually meant two months later when Mr. Rodriguez died. He and his wife, both retired, lived two doors down from us. I mowed his lawn and after I was done his wife would give me fresh baked cookies and lemonade. Mr. Rodriguez was an avid fisherman, he and his buddy would drive over to Bugg’s Island lake a couple of times a week to catch whatever they could and bring it home for his wife to clean. He’d always save two of his catch for my mother and me though she didn’t like fish but took it anyway because she liked the Rodriguez’s and was grateful for his thoughtfulness.
I had finished the lawn and was sitting on the stairs eating a plate of chocolate chip pecan cookies when Mr. Rodriguez pulled into the driveway. He’d been fishing of course and was wearing his life vest and fishing cap with all the feathered hooks on it. When he got out the car, his bright smile at me dimmed by the brightness of the numbered white that floated over his head, as clean and as fateful as one of those dialogue bubbles over the head of a newspaper cartoon.
“The grass looks good, Fletcher.”
I didn’t respond, just stared at the 8 that glimmered with a dark shine like a black sun. The cookies in my stomach roiled and I set aside the plate.
“What’s the matter?” Mr. Rodriguez asked. “The cookies gone bad?”
“No, they’re good as usual. I must’ve eaten too fast.”
He nodded, “Got a good catch. I’ll bring you and your mother a couple as soon as they’re cleaned.” I nod this time, unable to speak, to take my eyes off that savagely bright 8.
I found out Mr. Rodriguez was dead when I got home from school. A row of cars were parked in his driveway and along the street. My mother was in the kitchen frying fish and crying and I knew.
“Ma?”
“Mr. Rodriguez he—”
“When?” I cut her off and moved to the calendar on the fridge door.
“This morning. He was coming back from the lake with Mr. Marshall when a woman, going the wrong way, hit them head on; they were all killed.”
I was half listening to the how as I counted forward from the day I had seen the number: it was 8 days exactly it had appeared over Mr. Rodriguez’s unknowing head doing its slow, languid gyration that meant everything. 8 days for the dead but it could have been 8 minutes, 8 months, 8 years; I don’t have a clue which one it could mean, I only know that once it appears, it doesn’t change, its fated.
I’m 31 now and live in New York City, well in Brooklyn. I run a restaurant in Manhattan, a bistro on Old Slip called Capistrano started with my best friends, Charles McFarland who’s the chef and Janice Spiegel, the chief baker. We didn’t believe we’d stay open 1 year let alone 7 in a town saturated with restaurants, cafes, sandwich shops, diners, you name it that open and close as fast as time. Yet to our surprise and glee we’ve been able to make it and even take out a small profit.
I order the food and produce, work with the accountant, meet the distributors and try and manage the behind-the-scene catastrophes and machinations that are the business of any restaurant.
The end to come (scary).
If you have any comments or suggestions I have a new e-mail address at: mathewsla@hotmail.com
Until next time, God willing.
Less Than (continued)
Thank God? Thank Allah? I don’t know. I’ve never dug deeply into my ‘extreme sixth sense’ to consider if it’s a gift or a curse. I’ve prayed about it though, to whom? It didn’t matter, I just prayed for it to go away.
I finally understood what the numbered white actually meant two months later when Mr. Rodriguez died. He and his wife, both retired, lived two doors down from us. I mowed his lawn and after I was done his wife would give me fresh baked cookies and lemonade. Mr. Rodriguez was an avid fisherman, he and his buddy would drive over to Bugg’s Island lake a couple of times a week to catch whatever they could and bring it home for his wife to clean. He’d always save two of his catch for my mother and me though she didn’t like fish but took it anyway because she liked the Rodriguez’s and was grateful for his thoughtfulness.
I had finished the lawn and was sitting on the stairs eating a plate of chocolate chip pecan cookies when Mr. Rodriguez pulled into the driveway. He’d been fishing of course and was wearing his life vest and fishing cap with all the feathered hooks on it. When he got out the car, his bright smile at me dimmed by the brightness of the numbered white that floated over his head, as clean and as fateful as one of those dialogue bubbles over the head of a newspaper cartoon.
“The grass looks good, Fletcher.”
I didn’t respond, just stared at the 8 that glimmered with a dark shine like a black sun. The cookies in my stomach roiled and I set aside the plate.
“What’s the matter?” Mr. Rodriguez asked. “The cookies gone bad?”
“No, they’re good as usual. I must’ve eaten too fast.”
He nodded, “Got a good catch. I’ll bring you and your mother a couple as soon as they’re cleaned.” I nod this time, unable to speak, to take my eyes off that savagely bright 8.
I found out Mr. Rodriguez was dead when I got home from school. A row of cars were parked in his driveway and along the street. My mother was in the kitchen frying fish and crying and I knew.
“Ma?”
“Mr. Rodriguez he—”
“When?” I cut her off and moved to the calendar on the fridge door.
“This morning. He was coming back from the lake with Mr. Marshall when a woman, going the wrong way, hit them head on; they were all killed.”
I was half listening to the how as I counted forward from the day I had seen the number: it was 8 days exactly it had appeared over Mr. Rodriguez’s unknowing head doing its slow, languid gyration that meant everything. 8 days for the dead but it could have been 8 minutes, 8 months, 8 years; I don’t have a clue which one it could mean, I only know that once it appears, it doesn’t change, its fated.
I’m 31 now and live in New York City, well in Brooklyn. I run a restaurant in Manhattan, a bistro on Old Slip called Capistrano started with my best friends, Charles McFarland who’s the chef and Janice Spiegel, the chief baker. We didn’t believe we’d stay open 1 year let alone 7 in a town saturated with restaurants, cafes, sandwich shops, diners, you name it that open and close as fast as time. Yet to our surprise and glee we’ve been able to make it and even take out a small profit.
I order the food and produce, work with the accountant, meet the distributors and try and manage the behind-the-scene catastrophes and machinations that are the business of any restaurant.
The end to come (scary).
If you have any comments or suggestions I have a new e-mail address at: mathewsla@hotmail.com
Until next time, God willing.
Friday, May 29, 2009
Hello and Happy Friday,
I hope you got the chance to read and enjoyed the first part of 'Less Than'. I'm still working of the last half--you know I'm a slow re-writer--but it'll be done, ready, next we meet. I promise. So don't be mad, please come back to read it. It'll be worth it you'll see.
Keep the faith, writing helps.
If you have any comments or suggestions I have a new e-mail address at: mathewsla@hotmail.com
Until next time, God willing.
I hope you got the chance to read and enjoyed the first part of 'Less Than'. I'm still working of the last half--you know I'm a slow re-writer--but it'll be done, ready, next we meet. I promise. So don't be mad, please come back to read it. It'll be worth it you'll see.
Keep the faith, writing helps.
If you have any comments or suggestions I have a new e-mail address at: mathewsla@hotmail.com
Until next time, God willing.
Friday, May 22, 2009
LESS THAN
When I’m reading—usually horror—I’ll come across this line: “He had only two weeks to live” it throws me because it’s usually preceded by the character being happy; the happiest they’ve ever been and then bam, dead. Unfortunately, I’ve found this to be true in real life. I’d seen those people who were happy living, unaware, then... gone. And in the newspapers I’d read about how they were just getting ready to go on their second honeymoon, start a new job, welcome their first child; how their families were in shock that their loved one--so wonderful-- had been just fine hours before.
For some of them this wasn’t true. Their lives weren’t fine but tragic and were pushing to lessen their time each day. How do I know? Because I know. My names Fletcher Grace. I’m not a fortune teller, a doctor, psychic or a serial killer; just an ordinary guy who owns a restaurant who know when someone is going to die. No I take it back, instead of die I know instead how long they have to live which could be the same thing; you decide. 6, 5 months, 43 years, 18 seconds; I know.
How do I of all people, a restaurateur, know when death is truly coming when no one on the planet is supposed to, yet I do; since I was twelve; to my horror. I’ve made myself believe it’s a kind of sixth sense, an aberrant trust dropped on me by accident, not fate and I’ve needed to believe this to keep going.
I was eight months into my twelfth birthday when I first saw what I call the ‘white paper’, appear, it was just there, over the head of my mother. We were sitting at the dining room table eating lunch and she was asking what I wanted to do for my birthday when suddenly the air above her head wiggled, began to waver and jiggle as if heat was coming out of her head.
When I’m reading—usually horror—I’ll come across this line: “He had only two weeks to live” it throws me because it’s usually preceded by the character being happy; the happiest they’ve ever been and then bam, dead. Unfortunately, I’ve found this to be true in real life. I’d seen those people who were happy living, unaware, then... gone. And in the newspapers I’d read about how they were just getting ready to go on their second honeymoon, start a new job, welcome their first child; how their families were in shock that their loved one--so wonderful-- had been just fine hours before.
For some of them this wasn’t true. Their lives weren’t fine but tragic and were pushing to lessen their time each day. How do I know? Because I know. My names Fletcher Grace. I’m not a fortune teller, a doctor, psychic or a serial killer; just an ordinary guy who owns a restaurant who know when someone is going to die. No I take it back, instead of die I know instead how long they have to live which could be the same thing; you decide. 6, 5 months, 43 years, 18 seconds; I know.
How do I of all people, a restaurateur, know when death is truly coming when no one on the planet is supposed to, yet I do; since I was twelve; to my horror. I’ve made myself believe it’s a kind of sixth sense, an aberrant trust dropped on me by accident, not fate and I’ve needed to believe this to keep going.
I was eight months into my twelfth birthday when I first saw what I call the ‘white paper’, appear, it was just there, over the head of my mother. We were sitting at the dining room table eating lunch and she was asking what I wanted to do for my birthday when suddenly the air above her head wiggled, began to waver and jiggle as if heat was coming out of her head.
I thought at first I was imagining it and rubbed at my eyes, blinked, but the air kept flapping, the sound like sheets blowing on a line and then it appeared, fuzzy, then deepening into a thin, clean white square of what looked like parchment paper, the edges curling a little and was the size of a banker’s box top. It swayed, black print forming on it and it was only years later I looked up the font of the numbers and found they were Modern No. 20.
Her number was 52. And it faded as slowly as it appeared.
I was surprised, puzzled, by the appearance and disappearance of the apparition, of the number but not afraid, at least not then. I was twelve and at that age life was a welcoming mystery I was just beginning to explore.
My mother though, took one look at my face and asked, “Fletcher, what is it? You’re white as a sheet?” I laughed. I told her I was fine but did wonder if I had a brain tumor or had a stroke but dismissed it like any kid would who believed they’d live forever.
I saw the 52 over her head a few more times that year and then never again. My mother was 34 then; she’s now 52 and has 34 years to live.
I was surprised, puzzled, by the appearance and disappearance of the apparition, of the number but not afraid, at least not then. I was twelve and at that age life was a welcoming mystery I was just beginning to explore.
My mother though, took one look at my face and asked, “Fletcher, what is it? You’re white as a sheet?” I laughed. I told her I was fine but did wonder if I had a brain tumor or had a stroke but dismissed it like any kid would who believed they’d live forever.
I saw the 52 over her head a few more times that year and then never again. My mother was 34 then; she’s now 52 and has 34 years to live.
***The last pages next week, I hope you want to read the rest.
If you have any questions or comments feel free to contact me at:matwrite1@aol.com, I’ll love to hear from you.
Until next time God willing,
Lori
If you have any questions or comments feel free to contact me at:matwrite1@aol.com, I’ll love to hear from you.
Until next time God willing,
Lori
Monday, May 18, 2009
Hello and Happy Monday,
I just wanted to touch base with you because I didn't get to on Friday. Still, I know-- still-- working on the story but I'll have a finished product on Friday and I hope you care that I will.
Take care,
If you have any comments or suggestions I have a new e-mail address at: mathewsla@hotmail.com
Until next time, God willing.
I just wanted to touch base with you because I didn't get to on Friday. Still, I know-- still-- working on the story but I'll have a finished product on Friday and I hope you care that I will.
Take care,
If you have any comments or suggestions I have a new e-mail address at: mathewsla@hotmail.com
Until next time, God willing.
Friday, May 08, 2009
Hello and Happy Friday,
It is happy because I’m doing okay and my family is fine and despite the facts I haven’t finished the short story I said I'd complete and because I found out on Monday I would be laid off from my current job on June 30, 2009. It sounds “oh no” but its not the end because I can apply for new positions with the new organization and if I get one of them, I will just transaction to the new organization after the 30th. So my co-workers and I are scrambling to make sure our resumes and cover letters are ready and discussing the upcoming interviews while trying not to worry over how our salaries will look (every one thinking next to poverty level) and if we don’t get a position how we’ll make it on unemployment and what year we may get another job.
So with this going on I began to wonder how or do other writers write during major life upheavals? I’ve come to the conclusion it's possible to write while the other side of your life is running around screaming the world is ending. For me, I may not write more but I do write some and I do so for the escape factor. Once I start to write about Owen or the short story, I fall into their world and at that moment—maybe thirty minutes, an hour—nothing intrudes and it’s all about the writing and creating their world for those few precious moments. This weekend I have to work on my job stuff and try and not let it negatively color my time with my family, my children though it will of course be in the back—forefront—of my mind. Yet, I’m going to try and counter that negativity by doing what I enjoy and believe I do best, write, fall into the worlds I’m trying to create and then do the best I can with the challenges many of us are facing these days. Adding a few prayers will help too.
Write, it helps more than you know
If you have any comments or suggestions I have a new e-mail address at: mathewsla@hotmail.com
Until next time, God willing.
It is happy because I’m doing okay and my family is fine and despite the facts I haven’t finished the short story I said I'd complete and because I found out on Monday I would be laid off from my current job on June 30, 2009. It sounds “oh no” but its not the end because I can apply for new positions with the new organization and if I get one of them, I will just transaction to the new organization after the 30th. So my co-workers and I are scrambling to make sure our resumes and cover letters are ready and discussing the upcoming interviews while trying not to worry over how our salaries will look (every one thinking next to poverty level) and if we don’t get a position how we’ll make it on unemployment and what year we may get another job.
So with this going on I began to wonder how or do other writers write during major life upheavals? I’ve come to the conclusion it's possible to write while the other side of your life is running around screaming the world is ending. For me, I may not write more but I do write some and I do so for the escape factor. Once I start to write about Owen or the short story, I fall into their world and at that moment—maybe thirty minutes, an hour—nothing intrudes and it’s all about the writing and creating their world for those few precious moments. This weekend I have to work on my job stuff and try and not let it negatively color my time with my family, my children though it will of course be in the back—forefront—of my mind. Yet, I’m going to try and counter that negativity by doing what I enjoy and believe I do best, write, fall into the worlds I’m trying to create and then do the best I can with the challenges many of us are facing these days. Adding a few prayers will help too.
Write, it helps more than you know
If you have any comments or suggestions I have a new e-mail address at: mathewsla@hotmail.com
Until next time, God willing.
Friday, May 01, 2009
Hello, Happy Friday and I'm still working on story,
I’m still writing the story I told you about last week—rewriting, which is what it’s about. I’m doing the hard part of cutting off limbs as I call it, painful, debilitating, off putting, confusing and so on. I want it to be a short story and not over crowded with junk, unnecessaries and only the beauty of story to be read and that’s difficult for me. I find trouble putting time into the story because I don’t want to take it lightly or make it light but give it heart and soul like all writing I want to do well.
So I’m still reworking the story, rewriting and so far I’m okay with it, I just have to keep reaching for it’s heart.
If you have any comments or suggestions please e-mail me at my new address: mathewsla@hotmail.com
Until next time, God willing
I’m still writing the story I told you about last week—rewriting, which is what it’s about. I’m doing the hard part of cutting off limbs as I call it, painful, debilitating, off putting, confusing and so on. I want it to be a short story and not over crowded with junk, unnecessaries and only the beauty of story to be read and that’s difficult for me. I find trouble putting time into the story because I don’t want to take it lightly or make it light but give it heart and soul like all writing I want to do well.
So I’m still reworking the story, rewriting and so far I’m okay with it, I just have to keep reaching for it’s heart.
If you have any comments or suggestions please e-mail me at my new address: mathewsla@hotmail.com
Until next time, God willing
Friday, April 24, 2009
Hello and Happy Friday,
I was going to submit a short story today but it’s not short enough obviously and I’m still working on it and hope to –hope to—have it next week. I really did believe I could write a good short story in one short week but I was kidding myself something awful. As you know I’m a slow writer which already doomed my story to taking longer. For the other, my short story is more complicated than I thought it would be. The story titled ‘Less Than” was born from a dream and in the dream everything, all the details, the character’s names, the essential story is done. But of course, when I got to writing the dream (the story) down it was ephemeral like dreams are, not solid, one dimensional; more of an outline than a story. So I have to fill the dream in and make it a living, breathing, solid story and that takes time.
I’ll keep working on the story until it’s done; as we all do. Keep working on yours too; a story, a poem a novel because in the end, it’s all we can do.
If you have any comments or suggestions please e-mail me at my new address: mathewsla@hotmail.com
Until next time, God willing
I was going to submit a short story today but it’s not short enough obviously and I’m still working on it and hope to –hope to—have it next week. I really did believe I could write a good short story in one short week but I was kidding myself something awful. As you know I’m a slow writer which already doomed my story to taking longer. For the other, my short story is more complicated than I thought it would be. The story titled ‘Less Than” was born from a dream and in the dream everything, all the details, the character’s names, the essential story is done. But of course, when I got to writing the dream (the story) down it was ephemeral like dreams are, not solid, one dimensional; more of an outline than a story. So I have to fill the dream in and make it a living, breathing, solid story and that takes time.
I’ll keep working on the story until it’s done; as we all do. Keep working on yours too; a story, a poem a novel because in the end, it’s all we can do.
If you have any comments or suggestions please e-mail me at my new address: mathewsla@hotmail.com
Until next time, God willing
Friday, April 17, 2009
Hello and Happy Early Friday,
I was editing some student documents for my brother who’s a teacher and came across this line, “…writing skills are not much in demand due to the use of the laptop.” The middle school students he teaches work off laptops for their assignments which I get, but how did writing skills loose out in this equation? I’m thinking the students have to still write papers don’t they? Do they? And if they don’t why not? And they still have to write reports, write sentences, write their names at least; so why aren’t writing skills in demand? They definitely should be—must be; I don’t believe you can successfully get through life without knowing how to write something not to speak of writing well. Though I can understand where the mindset of “not much in demand” comes from.
My ten year old is one of those who doesn’t agree writing is very important. For him and probably other kid’s his age and older it’s a terrible chore to write anything and the only way to get through it is to be as succinct as possible, one word sentences if that; brevity is the key and the use of your imagination is a no-no; too much trouble. What a shame. I try to get my kid to see not just how important and beneficial it is to learn to write well, but how beautiful it can be and how adding spice to the writing of a generic story just makes it better. When you can write about a dog trotting home, why not make the dog a tiny scared one whose home is ten miles away through a bad neighborhood; make it fun and able to capture attention.
I’ll keep working on getting my kid to write more often, the old –fashioned paper and pen kind of writing and learn to love it. Though I may be working at a losing battle because my kid soon will be going to middle school where he’ll get his own laptop so I don’t have much time.
Keep writing alive.
If you have any comments or suggestions please e-mail me at my new address: mathewsla@hotmail.com
Until next time, God willing
I was editing some student documents for my brother who’s a teacher and came across this line, “…writing skills are not much in demand due to the use of the laptop.” The middle school students he teaches work off laptops for their assignments which I get, but how did writing skills loose out in this equation? I’m thinking the students have to still write papers don’t they? Do they? And if they don’t why not? And they still have to write reports, write sentences, write their names at least; so why aren’t writing skills in demand? They definitely should be—must be; I don’t believe you can successfully get through life without knowing how to write something not to speak of writing well. Though I can understand where the mindset of “not much in demand” comes from.
My ten year old is one of those who doesn’t agree writing is very important. For him and probably other kid’s his age and older it’s a terrible chore to write anything and the only way to get through it is to be as succinct as possible, one word sentences if that; brevity is the key and the use of your imagination is a no-no; too much trouble. What a shame. I try to get my kid to see not just how important and beneficial it is to learn to write well, but how beautiful it can be and how adding spice to the writing of a generic story just makes it better. When you can write about a dog trotting home, why not make the dog a tiny scared one whose home is ten miles away through a bad neighborhood; make it fun and able to capture attention.
I’ll keep working on getting my kid to write more often, the old –fashioned paper and pen kind of writing and learn to love it. Though I may be working at a losing battle because my kid soon will be going to middle school where he’ll get his own laptop so I don’t have much time.
Keep writing alive.
If you have any comments or suggestions please e-mail me at my new address: mathewsla@hotmail.com
Until next time, God willing
Thursday, April 09, 2009
Hello and Happy Early Friday (or Thursday),
I’m almost done with the second Owen Story novel and it’s pretty good if I say so myself; I’m having fun writing it, a lot of hold-your-breath-rides going on. I believe folks will like it, the few who may get to read it. I say this because I’m not going to do a lot of advertising, promotion, publicity whatever you want to call it for the second novel. Why not? You have to put in big efforts to promote your book and I don’t want to put in that effort on this one. It’s not that I’m lazy (I can be) so won’t do it or that it's not worth it, but I want to concentrate my energy on doing a very good job on the third and last novel in the trilogy.
Sidestep: I believe the second of a trilogy, whatever trilogy it is: books, movies, music, the second has to be the best if possible, because it’s the connection between 2 and 3 of course. The first should introduce the characters with a good story behind it; it doesn’t have to be a world shattering story but very good. Yet, the second novel must be fireworks—at least I believe—a great everything so that when the third and last novel comes out it should link all three and satisfy the entire story line. I have come to my theory from some of my favorite movies: the Lord of the Rings three and my all time favorite movie trilogy, the Godfather, so there you go.
I found that doing the promotion for the first novel did take a lot of time, energy and money and I can use all three to make the third novel exceptional. Also, folks have a lot of things on their mind just trying to survive these days I don’t want to bug them to buy and read my book. I’m going to do a touch of promotion through this blog, e-mails, post cards around the city and mailed to other parts of the world but that may be it. Folks who are interested have let me know so I’ll let them know and I’ll pass the book along to those who want it and to those I want to gift it to but continue to concentrate on the third.
If you’re interested look for the announcement of the second Owen Story soon and give it a try, but only if you want to; I'm not pushin it.
“The way you define yourself as a writer is that you write every time you have a free minute. If you didn’t behave that way you would never do anything.” John Irving
If you have any comments or suggestions please e-mail me at my new address: mathewsla@hotmail.com
Until next time, God willing
I’m almost done with the second Owen Story novel and it’s pretty good if I say so myself; I’m having fun writing it, a lot of hold-your-breath-rides going on. I believe folks will like it, the few who may get to read it. I say this because I’m not going to do a lot of advertising, promotion, publicity whatever you want to call it for the second novel. Why not? You have to put in big efforts to promote your book and I don’t want to put in that effort on this one. It’s not that I’m lazy (I can be) so won’t do it or that it's not worth it, but I want to concentrate my energy on doing a very good job on the third and last novel in the trilogy.
Sidestep: I believe the second of a trilogy, whatever trilogy it is: books, movies, music, the second has to be the best if possible, because it’s the connection between 2 and 3 of course. The first should introduce the characters with a good story behind it; it doesn’t have to be a world shattering story but very good. Yet, the second novel must be fireworks—at least I believe—a great everything so that when the third and last novel comes out it should link all three and satisfy the entire story line. I have come to my theory from some of my favorite movies: the Lord of the Rings three and my all time favorite movie trilogy, the Godfather, so there you go.
I found that doing the promotion for the first novel did take a lot of time, energy and money and I can use all three to make the third novel exceptional. Also, folks have a lot of things on their mind just trying to survive these days I don’t want to bug them to buy and read my book. I’m going to do a touch of promotion through this blog, e-mails, post cards around the city and mailed to other parts of the world but that may be it. Folks who are interested have let me know so I’ll let them know and I’ll pass the book along to those who want it and to those I want to gift it to but continue to concentrate on the third.
If you’re interested look for the announcement of the second Owen Story soon and give it a try, but only if you want to; I'm not pushin it.
“The way you define yourself as a writer is that you write every time you have a free minute. If you didn’t behave that way you would never do anything.” John Irving
If you have any comments or suggestions please e-mail me at my new address: mathewsla@hotmail.com
Until next time, God willing
Friday, April 03, 2009
Hello and Happy Friday,
Just wanted to know if you’re writing—I think it’s more so if you’re trying and if so that’s good ; trying is the start of all writing anyway isn’t it? Keep trying and keep writing. Short but sweet and it is writing.
If you have any comments or suggestions please e-mail me at my new address: mathewsla@hotmail.com
Until next time, God willing
Lori
Just wanted to know if you’re writing—I think it’s more so if you’re trying and if so that’s good ; trying is the start of all writing anyway isn’t it? Keep trying and keep writing. Short but sweet and it is writing.
If you have any comments or suggestions please e-mail me at my new address: mathewsla@hotmail.com
Until next time, God willing
Lori
Friday, March 27, 2009
Hello,
I was out of town for a sad occasion, a funeral, and just made it back this morning in time to send along a little message I know you haven’t heard before, so here it is: Life is short as all get out so do what you love and ignore the naysayers. I know, I know, the very idea; one, no one in the world has mentioned this; so I’ll do it and tell you to write whatever you love, just do it well. I definitely am.
“Writing should be a joy and yeah, pigs might fry bacon.” Lori A. Mathews
If you have any comments or suggestions please e-mail me at my new address: mathewsla@hotmail.com
Until next time, God willing
Lori
I was out of town for a sad occasion, a funeral, and just made it back this morning in time to send along a little message I know you haven’t heard before, so here it is: Life is short as all get out so do what you love and ignore the naysayers. I know, I know, the very idea; one, no one in the world has mentioned this; so I’ll do it and tell you to write whatever you love, just do it well. I definitely am.
“Writing should be a joy and yeah, pigs might fry bacon.” Lori A. Mathews
If you have any comments or suggestions please e-mail me at my new address: mathewsla@hotmail.com
Until next time, God willing
Lori
Friday, March 20, 2009
Hello and Happy Friday,
I wrote last blog about discovering new writers which is a great thing, because it of course means great new novels to read; yet new books aren’t the only things out there to grasp and discover. There are still many types of information to peruse—even listen to—to gather information or just enjoy. One of the sources I still rely on for information, “ah ha” moments, entertainment are newspapers. I love reading various ones each day, those I get on line and those I can touch. I read on-line: USA Today, MSNBC News (though this can’t be gotten in hard copy) and the New York Times; I will once in a while read my local paper, The Cleveland Plain Dealer.
My favorite though is The Wall Street Journal, most know how good the business writing is but the everyday, unusual and profound stories and articles are the reason I love the journal. I remember stories to this day I read years ago from the paper; one about glass blowing and the other about Cannary Row and the fishing industry, both were—as you can tell—very memorable because I learned a few things and the stories were brilliantly written. From the journal I keep an essay by the late author David Foster Wallace which I’ve read numerous times, it gives me hope and sustenance every time I read it and it has also prompted met to order his novels. Today, I read a story on MSNBC about the CIA that highlighted and sustained some information in the Owen Story novel I ‘m finishing up; when this happens it’s always a plus because it just grounds the reality of my story and backs me up.
Reading is fundamental” and more so for writers than anyone else and we’re blessed there is still so much material out there to chose from; it’s encouraging isn’t it? So read all you can, all different things; our choices are varied and will only enhance our writing.
“The skill of writing is to create a context in which other people think.” Edwin Schlossberg
If you have any comments or suggestions please e-mail me at my new address:
mathewsla@hotmail.com
Until next time, God willing
Lori
I wrote last blog about discovering new writers which is a great thing, because it of course means great new novels to read; yet new books aren’t the only things out there to grasp and discover. There are still many types of information to peruse—even listen to—to gather information or just enjoy. One of the sources I still rely on for information, “ah ha” moments, entertainment are newspapers. I love reading various ones each day, those I get on line and those I can touch. I read on-line: USA Today, MSNBC News (though this can’t be gotten in hard copy) and the New York Times; I will once in a while read my local paper, The Cleveland Plain Dealer.
My favorite though is The Wall Street Journal, most know how good the business writing is but the everyday, unusual and profound stories and articles are the reason I love the journal. I remember stories to this day I read years ago from the paper; one about glass blowing and the other about Cannary Row and the fishing industry, both were—as you can tell—very memorable because I learned a few things and the stories were brilliantly written. From the journal I keep an essay by the late author David Foster Wallace which I’ve read numerous times, it gives me hope and sustenance every time I read it and it has also prompted met to order his novels. Today, I read a story on MSNBC about the CIA that highlighted and sustained some information in the Owen Story novel I ‘m finishing up; when this happens it’s always a plus because it just grounds the reality of my story and backs me up.
Reading is fundamental” and more so for writers than anyone else and we’re blessed there is still so much material out there to chose from; it’s encouraging isn’t it? So read all you can, all different things; our choices are varied and will only enhance our writing.
“The skill of writing is to create a context in which other people think.” Edwin Schlossberg
If you have any comments or suggestions please e-mail me at my new address:
mathewsla@hotmail.com
Until next time, God willing
Lori
Friday, March 13, 2009
Hello and Happy Friday,
Today is a writing day for me and I hope for you too. I'm trying to write in a few places I usually can't because I'm supposed to be doing something else at the time, but the time when I want my book finished and in the world is coming up quickly and I want to make that date and be happy with the results; so I'm squashing in writing when I can. It's funny how finding the time to write can be a challenge as we all attest to, but what makes it so wonderful is that you're writing!!!--even if you have to do it while trying to take a bath, wash dishes, do laundry, ride home on the bus; you put a few notes down, write a paragraph, do a bit of research, it leaves you almost giddy because you know; despite the difficulties, interruptions (you have to get off the bus at your stop) challenges, you know you're doing what you love and in the end you'll have a novel, short story or poem that you created.
So stop whatever else you're doing and write something.
Until next time, God willing
Lori
If you have any comments or suggestions please e-mail me at my new address: mathewsla@hotmail.com
Today is a writing day for me and I hope for you too. I'm trying to write in a few places I usually can't because I'm supposed to be doing something else at the time, but the time when I want my book finished and in the world is coming up quickly and I want to make that date and be happy with the results; so I'm squashing in writing when I can. It's funny how finding the time to write can be a challenge as we all attest to, but what makes it so wonderful is that you're writing!!!--even if you have to do it while trying to take a bath, wash dishes, do laundry, ride home on the bus; you put a few notes down, write a paragraph, do a bit of research, it leaves you almost giddy because you know; despite the difficulties, interruptions (you have to get off the bus at your stop) challenges, you know you're doing what you love and in the end you'll have a novel, short story or poem that you created.
So stop whatever else you're doing and write something.
Until next time, God willing
Lori
If you have any comments or suggestions please e-mail me at my new address: mathewsla@hotmail.com
Friday, March 06, 2009
Hello,
It’s always great to discover new writers—or at least new to you—it’s like finding a piece of solid gold in your cereal box. Discovering new writers is finding new worlds, characters you can’t forget, new ways writing can be done; its one of the best gifts the universe offers. I came across my new writers through one of the best resources--another writer—who takes the time to seek out other writers just for the pleasure of it and doesn’t mind passing along his choices to others; my “another writer” is one of the best, Stephen King. You know how he’s my second favorite writer, so I of course took his choices very seriously and choose two new writers I hadn’t heard of from his list and I third I discovered myself.
First, is Kate Atkinson, who is a British mystery writer and her writing reminds me of Ruth Rendell’s (one of my favorites) though her novel called Case Histories is more clinical than her writing, yet engaging. The characters are people you want to follow and like Ms. Rendell; she presents a detective though a private one, who is not as domesticated as Police Detective Wesford. One of the things I like about Ms. Atkinson’s writing is that it’s good, the stories interesting enough that you want to read her next work as soon as possible. The second novelist recommended by Mr. King is Robert Goodard who's written Pale Battalions, he's a British mystery as well. I haven’t gotten the novel yet but I’m looking forward to it.
My third new novelist I discovered on my own, his name is Richard Stark who was the terrific Donald E. Westlake. I love the Richard Stark novels; I’ve read two so far. Mr. Stark wrote about master criminal Parker who is a master criminal that runs into a lot of bad luck it takes all his skill to get out of with his life and the lives of his partners. The novels carry you along; you root for Parker to make it out with his loot even though the twists and turns seem impossible for him to maneuver his way through but he does, even when it takes a bullet.
So there you have it, three new writers to take up more of your writing time, yet it’s more than worth it; it’s hard to write well if you haven’t read how well it can be done.
“Please write again soon. Though my own life is filled with activity, letters encourage momentary escape into others lives and I come back to my own with greater encouragement.” Elizabeth Forsythe Hailey
If you have any comments or suggestions please e-mail me at my new address: mathewsla@hotmail.com
It’s always great to discover new writers—or at least new to you—it’s like finding a piece of solid gold in your cereal box. Discovering new writers is finding new worlds, characters you can’t forget, new ways writing can be done; its one of the best gifts the universe offers. I came across my new writers through one of the best resources--another writer—who takes the time to seek out other writers just for the pleasure of it and doesn’t mind passing along his choices to others; my “another writer” is one of the best, Stephen King. You know how he’s my second favorite writer, so I of course took his choices very seriously and choose two new writers I hadn’t heard of from his list and I third I discovered myself.
First, is Kate Atkinson, who is a British mystery writer and her writing reminds me of Ruth Rendell’s (one of my favorites) though her novel called Case Histories is more clinical than her writing, yet engaging. The characters are people you want to follow and like Ms. Rendell; she presents a detective though a private one, who is not as domesticated as Police Detective Wesford. One of the things I like about Ms. Atkinson’s writing is that it’s good, the stories interesting enough that you want to read her next work as soon as possible. The second novelist recommended by Mr. King is Robert Goodard who's written Pale Battalions, he's a British mystery as well. I haven’t gotten the novel yet but I’m looking forward to it.
My third new novelist I discovered on my own, his name is Richard Stark who was the terrific Donald E. Westlake. I love the Richard Stark novels; I’ve read two so far. Mr. Stark wrote about master criminal Parker who is a master criminal that runs into a lot of bad luck it takes all his skill to get out of with his life and the lives of his partners. The novels carry you along; you root for Parker to make it out with his loot even though the twists and turns seem impossible for him to maneuver his way through but he does, even when it takes a bullet.
So there you have it, three new writers to take up more of your writing time, yet it’s more than worth it; it’s hard to write well if you haven’t read how well it can be done.
“Please write again soon. Though my own life is filled with activity, letters encourage momentary escape into others lives and I come back to my own with greater encouragement.” Elizabeth Forsythe Hailey
If you have any comments or suggestions please e-mail me at my new address: mathewsla@hotmail.com
Friday, February 27, 2009
Hello and Happy Friday,
I hope this mail finds you very well and writing better than ever. I ordered a much needed computer the other day. I don’t have my own or the one I had is broken, obsolete, so I have to use one where I can. So I ordered one and I'm looking forward to it's arrival. Will it make me write better? Of course not, it may make my writing worst in some instances where I’ll overlook words or miss information because for one: I don’t see one-hundred percent and looking at a computer screen for a long time will tax my eyesight. And second, I find it easier to overlook what I’ve incorrectly written on the computer than I do when I write my novels out. I’m more careful writing them out and I believe its because I can easily read and re-read what’s on paper without having to mentally adjust my brain—my eyesight—to the glare of the computer and how words are written on it. Also, when you write in a notebook its easy to pick it up and put your pencil to your work, but when you’re on the computer you have to boot it up, wait for it to go through its machinations, find your folder, get to the text and get started—a lot going on when you think about it.
I’m looking forward to getting my new computer and putting my new novel on it and for one important reason; it means the writing with pen is over, I’m moving to the next phase and close to the novel being officially done and this is very, very good. Yeah.
Keep writing, it’s really the only thing you can do.
If you have any comments or suggestions please e-mail me at my new address: mathewsla@hotmail.com
Until next time, God willing,
I hope this mail finds you very well and writing better than ever. I ordered a much needed computer the other day. I don’t have my own or the one I had is broken, obsolete, so I have to use one where I can. So I ordered one and I'm looking forward to it's arrival. Will it make me write better? Of course not, it may make my writing worst in some instances where I’ll overlook words or miss information because for one: I don’t see one-hundred percent and looking at a computer screen for a long time will tax my eyesight. And second, I find it easier to overlook what I’ve incorrectly written on the computer than I do when I write my novels out. I’m more careful writing them out and I believe its because I can easily read and re-read what’s on paper without having to mentally adjust my brain—my eyesight—to the glare of the computer and how words are written on it. Also, when you write in a notebook its easy to pick it up and put your pencil to your work, but when you’re on the computer you have to boot it up, wait for it to go through its machinations, find your folder, get to the text and get started—a lot going on when you think about it.
I’m looking forward to getting my new computer and putting my new novel on it and for one important reason; it means the writing with pen is over, I’m moving to the next phase and close to the novel being officially done and this is very, very good. Yeah.
Keep writing, it’s really the only thing you can do.
If you have any comments or suggestions please e-mail me at my new address: mathewsla@hotmail.com
Until next time, God willing,
Friday, February 20, 2009
Hello and Happy Friday,
I received an e-mail from a very nice fellow writer named Cindy, who is finishing up her second novel; that's always good news from a writer. Well, she mentioned how much she likes Stephen King novels and as you know I’m a huge fan too; he’s in my top three. It was surprising and ironic how she mentioned Mr. King because I’m right now reading the latest novel by his wife, Tabitha King and it’s a good one. The novel is called Candles Burning and it puts you in the mind of the work of another one of my favorite writers, Truman Capote, aided by a touch of Tennessee Williams with it’s southern backdrop and flare.
It’s funny how some writers can be so good, but so quiet; their work not given a parade or other fanfare (and to be married to a world-wide-writing-phenom on top of it yet they toil on and keep writing terrific work. I think it’s because they know they’re good, steady and don’t have to please anyone but themselves; so write what they choose and send it out when they want, an enviable place to be right. Most of us are writers like that I believe--or try to be--we want to please ourselves totally with our writing, more than we want to please any one else because we work so hard on trying to get it just right, again for ourselves.
I like the “quiet writers” like Tabitha King because I know when I stumble across one of her rare novels, I’m going to grab it up because there is no doubt in my mind it’s going to be well-written, with great details, believable characters and a terrific story line; adjectives we want other writers to someday say about our work don't we.
“Many books require no thought from those who read them, and for a very simple reason; they made no such demand upon those who wrote them.” – Charles Caleb Colton
If you have any comments or suggestions please e-mail me at my new address: mathewsla@hotmail.com
Until next time, God willing,
I received an e-mail from a very nice fellow writer named Cindy, who is finishing up her second novel; that's always good news from a writer. Well, she mentioned how much she likes Stephen King novels and as you know I’m a huge fan too; he’s in my top three. It was surprising and ironic how she mentioned Mr. King because I’m right now reading the latest novel by his wife, Tabitha King and it’s a good one. The novel is called Candles Burning and it puts you in the mind of the work of another one of my favorite writers, Truman Capote, aided by a touch of Tennessee Williams with it’s southern backdrop and flare.
It’s funny how some writers can be so good, but so quiet; their work not given a parade or other fanfare (and to be married to a world-wide-writing-phenom on top of it yet they toil on and keep writing terrific work. I think it’s because they know they’re good, steady and don’t have to please anyone but themselves; so write what they choose and send it out when they want, an enviable place to be right. Most of us are writers like that I believe--or try to be--we want to please ourselves totally with our writing, more than we want to please any one else because we work so hard on trying to get it just right, again for ourselves.
I like the “quiet writers” like Tabitha King because I know when I stumble across one of her rare novels, I’m going to grab it up because there is no doubt in my mind it’s going to be well-written, with great details, believable characters and a terrific story line; adjectives we want other writers to someday say about our work don't we.
“Many books require no thought from those who read them, and for a very simple reason; they made no such demand upon those who wrote them.” – Charles Caleb Colton
If you have any comments or suggestions please e-mail me at my new address: mathewsla@hotmail.com
Until next time, God willing,
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Hello on a Tuesday,
I just wanted to keep in touch and hope you're writing. I just wanted to say hello and to keep up with reading as well as the writing, its the only way to go.
Talk to you on Friday.
If you have any comments or suggestions I have a new e-mail address at: mathewsla@hotmail.com
Until next time, God willing.
I just wanted to keep in touch and hope you're writing. I just wanted to say hello and to keep up with reading as well as the writing, its the only way to go.
Talk to you on Friday.
If you have any comments or suggestions I have a new e-mail address at: mathewsla@hotmail.com
Until next time, God willing.
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