Writing in the NY Lake District

Happy 2012!

2012-01-03T13:30:00.000-08:00

Writing Goals for 2012 anyone? I would really like to see this blog take off as a place to test out poems, short snippets, thesis statements, anything we would like a read on! Any ideas?

I finished the final edit today on Morveren Sea Queen for Sorita d'Este's anthology on Faerie Queens. Now comes the "anxiously awaiting feed back part." I submitted it early, so I have time for re-writes.

On the same day I got a post on an anthology for Moon Books on 21st century pagan experience. Something else right up my alley. I forwarded the link to many many pagan writers or hopeful writers, so perhaps this will be the catalyst they need and Moon books will get the response they were looking for!

So my goals this year include:
1. Finish Identity and the Quartered Circle before we go to England.
2. Write a chapter for the aforementioned anthology.
3. Find my novels a publisher.
4. Boost this blog into a real influential site.

That ought to keep me out of trouble. Well, maybe not. What do you mean to get up to this year?

Generosity at Solstice

2011-12-21T11:50:00.000-08:00

If you read Anemone's Assays or my facebook writer's page, this is a re-wind.

I admit I have been completely turned off the seasonal holidays by the TV commercials, the lack of personal compassion and real thought behind gifts. this year--maven of the holiday trees, stuffed animals, and toys bedecking the halls--I left all the "stuff" in the attic. Eric and I simply feel disconnected from it all. The hubbub is so distractingly irrelevant to us.

Still, there are some wonderful things that warm the heart and get me excited. Arranging for my teenage grandchildren's gifts is one of them. I can't say much right now because Mikayla might read this and spoil the surprise for herself, but I'm just sayin' I like what I did! Finding the right way to say to those two young people "You are so talented, and have all the possibilities of life at your feet!" makes my day. I hope it makes theirs.

The other tradition I am keeping is the family donation to Heifer. Mikayla and Bradley help us go through the Heifer catalog and pick out our family gift to people who really need it. I think last year it was chickens, ducks and goats. Maybe sheep this year? I don't know. I'll have to wait for Christmas to see. If you are not familiar with Heifer, follow the link and see what great work they do. I like that they give to families, get the kids involved and build on the promise that the breeding animals will result in gifts to others in their community to do the same. I think this makes a real difference. This year they have gifts which can be ear marked for families in the US given the rising level of poverty and need found in our own borders. In either case, Heifer will send gift cards to your friends and relatives if you give in their name. That's what we do. The adults in our world have enough stuff and are truly blessed. We take what we used to spend on gifts people didn't need and give the money to Heifer.

In addition to the family gift, each year I follow the lead from Nathan Bransford's Third Annual Heifer International Fundraiser and offer to match hits on my blogs or this year on my Facebook writer's page that reply to this post. I will donate $2 up to a $500 cap (total) for each hit on these announcements. Just reply below with a word about who you are, a wish for the New Year and whether or not you have ever heard of or given to Heifer International. Matching your gifts is over and above the donation our family does, so call me on it! I'll make good! Solstice Blessings to all. Have a blessed holiday where ever you are and what ever you celebrate. (Give me a few minutes to get the other blog posts up.)
Find me at:
Anemone's Assays or on Facebook at Dorothy L. Abrams-Writer

Setting Up a Facebook Writer's page

2011-11-30T13:54:00.000-08:00

I knew I had to do this sometime, but I did not expect to do it now. Then I needed to give a website address with my bio for the Yule Anthology from Pagan Writer's Press out next month. They accepted two of my pieces: Winter Solstice Story (a song poem about Persephone and Demeter) and The Spirit of the GiveAway )an essay about the Native American custom of the GiveAway Blanket and how we used it at the Web. I could only offer one link. I have two blogs, this one on writing and Anemone's Assays on paganism in the 21st century. What to choose what to choose?

I opted to set up a FaceBook Writer's Page under my own name Dorothy L. Abrams and put the blog titles in my bio. Those can be Googled. Or Binged. Or Yahooed. A writer's page was quicker and easier than setting up a whole website which is on my to do list.

Then I had to decide what to put on it. A simple start was to post some poem I never expect to publish. A few haikus, a birthday poem I wrote for Eric a few years ago. Then I started posting snips about my writing process. Bingo! Suddenly I know what I am doing. What a relief!

Now you can lick on my name and "like" me. Sounds so 5th grade doesn't it? Yet this is the process. If you are ready to post your writerly world in public on Facebook, go "create a page" currently hidden in the small print at the bottom of your home page. click and follow the directions. It is literally that simple.

Happy self-promotion, my lovelies.

Voyage of Purpose by David Bennett and Cindy Griffith-Bennett: A Review for Amazon

2011-10-23T12:47:00.000-07:00

Voyage of Purpose: Spiritual Wisdom from Near-Death Back to Life by David Bennett and Cindy Griffith-Bennett

“Wonder of wonder, miracle of miracles, God took an engineer by the hand…” Well with apologies to Fiddler on the Roof, the joy of the tailor Motel Kamzoil infuses David & Cindy Bennett’s book. Bennett has journeyed into the Light and returned with messages of hope for all of us: There is life after death. The power of eternity forms and informs our earthly existence. The worst of diseases can be healed. Learning to be open hearted and loving is a life long journey of joy.

I knew most of David Bennett’s story before I read the book. I found it as enthralling as it was the first time I heard it. My favorite part is about the scent of roses from a holy relic, something I would discount if anyone else told me. This book erases the line between possible and impossible. It gives the Reader's faith a booster shot. I highly recommend Voyage of Purpose as an antidote to the doom and gloom of current events. I’m giving it as a gift to my entire list of people for Yule so they can understand miracles still happen.

Avebury Cosmos by Nicholas R. Mann--a review for Amazon

2011-10-23T11:31:00.001-07:00

Avebury Cosmos by Nicholas R. Mann opens the doorway we always knew was there at the stone circles. Behind that doorway is the answer to the question “Why?” Mann provides star charts, reconstructed graphics of the hills and rivers along with our ancestor’s construction projects to help us understand their sacred space. He examines three circles in one place: the earthworks and stones at Avebury, the hills surrounding that complex, and the stars which circled Avebury in each of 3 millennia BCE when these monuments were constructed. Therein lays the answer to why? The Avebury complex is the Milky Way.

From the chalk white ditch to the sealed Long Barrow to the last elevation at Silbury Hill, Mann illustrates in detail how the builders saw their skies and how the skies were changing because of the precession of the Equinox. The stones reveal the changes in the sky. The stars slipping below the horizon out of sight indicate the reason for changes on the ground. Kennet Long Barrow was sealed as the celestial changes were nearly complete when it no longer marked the constellation we call the Southern Cross. Silbury Hill was erected as a last ditch effort to memorialize that vanishing constellation. From the first earthworks at Windmill Hill to the final building of Silbury Hill, the ancestors labored for three thousand years to bridge the gap between the Gods and Humankind. It was a collective cooperative effort. Mann understands that the Ancestors interacted with the sky. They built a bridge for connection with it. Avebury was not an observatory for the advancement of science, something we would more easily understand. It was a testament of their relationship with the night sky.

Nicholas Mann has given us a fine accounting of this bond with the celestials. He is careful, more careful than I, to avoid ascribing motive or spiritual principles to his analysis of the land and stars. Given the generations upon generations of celebrants at Avebury, he explains that the site is inclusive. It allowed the people to explore their relationship to the Cosmos in myths that made sense to them. Still, he offers the reader sufficient basis to draw some spiritual conclusions from their own experiences with the World Tree, tiered shamanic worlds and the circle. I delight in his observation that Avebury is itself a quartered circle, marked by Cygnus and the Southern Cross on the north-south axis and by the ecliptic crossings of the Sun on the east-west axis against the constellations of Sagittarius and Gemini. I cheer his recognition of the Axis Mundi encircled by the Milky Way as the World Tree. These acknowledgements fit my own cosmos, but Mann leaves room for all of us. The work is scientific. It is footnoted and indexed. It lacks a glossary of scientific terms.

Avebury Cosmos is highly recommended for the student of history, the neo pagan seeking to re-create sacred space, or the curious tourist in Avebury who asks “what was this all about anyway?”

Weather changes haiku

2011-07-25T09:12:00.001-07:00

Good sleeping weather
No fans, no air, so quiet.
Awake waiting dreams

Abandoned Tracks on Lasher Road 9 July 2011

2011-07-09T07:56:00.000-07:00

photo by Eric A. Reynolds

Abandoned Tracks on Lasher Road July 9, 2011 DL Abrams

Hidden in the weeds, red rusted rails

Stretch through the summer woods like any track.

They draw me on around the bend past limits

Posted by authorities to find the

Elderberry trees and mullein plants as

Tall as me. Inner devae hold their

Power in waste spaces, tucked away from

Observation, roads, and traffic lights. I

Barely hear the highway and lie down on

Grassy spots with leaf green spirits. If I

Journey on this Unknown Trail across

Forgotten land, I’m taken out of mind on

Rusty rails of ill used thoughts to God and

Leave you all behind. I go ahead.

Notes: I asked Eric to take a picture of the tracks while he was out. He took several, and this is the one nearest my intent for a poem. Frankly, we were both surprised at how overgrown they had become. Thus, this poem is entirely different than I had anticipated. We shall have to find a busier track for the poem I had in mind! Thanks to Bev for the "leafy green spirits" phrase.

The Peacock Arch--Jaipur

2011-07-08T11:27:00.000-07:00

The Peacock Arch--Jaipur

by Dorothy L. Abrams 8 July 2011

Blue and green mosaic peacocks fan their tails, All

Seeing eyes in rows and rows of feathers find me

Watching you reflected in grey pools of light and

Dark. Magnificence surrounds the lotus Krishna,

Opening the gate to inner courts of joy, He

Rises up my spine. Love spins unfettered from my

Head then spirals outward toward the searing light

Across the Universe. How can I call it back?

Gone! Radiating off through space, my soul in

Flight--100 million years ahead of me. Deep

Peace, serenity, good fortune following my

Days with you alive on Earth spread out like stars.

This poem was initially inspired by a travel brochure depicting just 3 of the peacocks. The poem arranged itself in dactylic hexameter without me being aware of it nor of that connection to the Grand Heroic style of Greek poetry which uses that meter, ie the Iliad. When I had completed the draft of the poem I went searching for information on the Peacock Arch, the meter and the identity of the deity over the arch whom I had incorrectly identified. When I realized this was actually one of the Krishna gates into the harem, the strong kundalini imagery made much more sense. Remember the George Harrison song My Sweet Lord celebrating Krishna? That has deep significance to me. This entire experience is loving and magical, for which I thank my Muses.

2011-06-28T09:22:00.000-07:00

Sonnet # 8 Lady Liberty’s Rainbow

She wore a rainbow banner last weekend

Supporting love and families of all kinds,

From Her statue there on Staten Island.

Hooray! The torch of liberty must shine

On politics gone left which makes it right

For friends who fought to marry, tie the knot,

Commit and make it legal in the sight

Of mother-god-and-country. Oh! Forgot

The apple pie? I hold deep doubts about

A marriage. Still I wish them joyful love

That lasts, draws heart to heart as those cut out

And custom made, soft hand in velvet glove.

Wage peace! I think a rainbow banner suits

Us more than white lace gowns or combat boots.

A Summer Solstice Ode

2011-06-24T09:26:00.000-07:00

#4 Ode at Solstice 2011

MidSummer Sun hid in the clouds

Across the lake toward Canada,

Peeked out and smiled through misty shrouds

And left a pathway for Dagda

The Good of New Grange Ireland.

“Join the mortals! Come, reappear

As our Fairy Gods.”

I beckoned

Them to walk the Lightway as a pier

Constructed by the setting sun;

A dancing prism path from west

to east which ended or begun

off shore out 20 yards at best--

Too far for me to wade and gain

The path where I might seek Them on

My own.

I cannot reach the plane

Where water turns to land beyond

This world as radiance turns dark

And dusky twilight falls on Earth.

Seagulls and terns wheeled through the park

In light and shadow, traced the girth

Of this world’s limits through the air,

Then settled bobbing on the waves

Which tried to drive the Light somewhere

Near shore and failed.

It’s part-way paved,

This Path of Light that does not budge

Before the rhythmic whooshing lake

makes breakers on the rocks.

I’d trudge

Out to the golden wharf, awaked

By thoughts that fly up with the Fey.

A human, sadly, I cannot

Abridge this gulf with feet of clay.

My heart is pierced by arrows shot

From elfin bows; yet I am bound

Here in shadows cast by endless

Brilliant light, the blinding sun drowned

In Ontario, her lapis

Jewels color inland sea and skies

Red and mauve and golden glitter

That wink along like fireflies.

It’s Summer Solstice. I embrace

The Light which slips from bright to night

Across this water colored place,

A palette for the summer rites.

Saturday Sonnets #7 Father's Day 6/19/2011

2011-06-18T14:31:00.000-07:00

Sonnet #7 Father’s Day by Dorothy Abrams

for Kenneth Abrams 1915-2000

He taught me I could love, succeed and win,

Achieve a dream I claimed within my heart;

Protected me and I protected him.

We battled, fought and tore ourselves apart

Until we mended festered wounds gone bad.

My loving him was not enough to fix

The rip inside his belly where he had

Concealed abuse and cruelty. Pinpricks

Of conscience kept his shadow chained.

No beatings, no destruction was allowed

So only part of Kenneth’s soul was blamed,

For smothering my candle with his shroud.

My father gave me music, joy and breath,

And yet I am forsaken by his death.

Ode #3 In Praise of the Ancestors: Sahre de Quincy Lord of Buckby 1090-1158

2011-06-15T13:20:00.000-07:00

photographer Eric Reynolds 28 May 2010 Long Buckby Northamptonshire UK

Ode #3 In Praise of the Ancestors:

Sahre de Quincy Lord of Buckby 1090-1158

Never heard of Saher nor Long Buckby,

But we stayed near there quite accidently.

Coincidence, our fate, an Ancient Site:

Small sign, an arrow. “Unimpressive tump,

Not much to see,” our landlord said. We might

Not need to go. Drawn in, we walked the humps

And lumps of earth found hiding in the weeds

As what was left—a castle gone to seed.

Motte and bailey lost as centuries passed,

Abandoned, scavenged, moved to Daventry,

Once built up by a knight of noble caste,

Ruling Norman Lord Saher de Quincy.

A funny way to find me, on a lark,

We wandered in, went walking in his park.

And as we read the sign that gave his name

De Quincy rang a bell from an old list.

I rolled my eyes and knew this was again

A touch of blood; another ghostly tryst.

Sonnet #6 Long Time Ago

2011-06-11T13:26:00.001-07:00

Sonnet #6 Long Time Ago

I well remember your green eyes much like
Your parka. We stood buffeted by wind,
Light rain in line to see historic sights.
An obelisk erect and strong akin
To us, a symbol of your father’s art--
And other men’s. Our reckless rides around
The streets, museums, the tidal basin park,
All became a stimulating playground.
Our angels worked on over time, I think.
We strode in step through malls, and turning heads
Our passion built bright auras, forged hot links
With lovers. We all laughed our fortunes read
But never understood. We saw the The Sting
With Newman, followed with an ice cream cone.
But when I thought at Yule we’d find a ring
You told your secret, cut me to the bone.
Engaged to someone else? Then go to hell.
I found the best revenge by living well.

HowLydi Survived Sonnet #4

2011-06-05T16:46:00.000-07:00

How Lydia Survived Dorothy Abrams 6/4/11

Respect the ways of Lydia, wise wit
With raspy tongue, she is a cat—aloof.
She’s both a steel-eyed fighter and a bit
...Of purring languor. But beware those wolves
Who seek to menace her or raise their fists.
This cat has magic, bending time and place
Escapes their trap. Then snags them, turns and twists
In unexpected ways. Danger erased.
Watch to learn more than attend to schooling;
Head blind folks mistake her true intention,
Find the jokes on them and she’s not fooling.
Tables turned were details she’d not mentioned.
The witch who loves and heals, will also dash
Your toe on stones or dump you on your ass.

Sonnet #4 Memorial Recollections by DLAbrams 5/29/11

2011-06-01T15:08:00.000-07:00

I bought a paper poppy, reddish brown
A tacky flower on a wire stem.
Remember them from school parades through town?
Down State Street hill to graveyards at each end:
One Catholic and one for the rest of us.
How odd that victims of those wars remote
Would divide forever when they’re dust.
Red faded flowers and parades denote
a death march celebration. The drums roll,
A gun salute and taps, what is this for?
A missing father, brother, son. A Gold
Star mother knows the sacrifice of war,
And soldiers who faced IEDs, they know.
But to the rest of us, it’s all a show.

Ode #2 Ode to the Ancestors by Dorothy Abrams

2011-06-01T15:03:00.000-07:00

Voices claim me. I am bound
By their past and present identity....
And the images I found
In Grampa’s cluttered dusty attic.
Their grace I hear, uncertain static
Masks the words, hides clarity.

Isaac and his wife were ghosts
Who offered health and love too soon.
But I became a fever’s host,
Because I banished them in fear,
Found illness costs me half a year
Confined inside my childhood room.

When I sought out my psychic gifts,
Louisa’s portrait changed her face
And bears to boars or wolfs would shift;
Shaped shadows hid within her dress
Each one a different fear expressed,
Until my pulses ceased to race.

But once my fears were neutralized
More family spirits came to call,
Their bloodline ties I recognized
Support me upright til I find
Their loving wisdom in my mind,
And built my soul a bearing wall.

Odes for Wodensday

2011-05-25T07:59:00.000-07:00

First I joined Merlyn of Merry Mischief in writing Haikus on Mondays. Then I added Saturday Sonnets. Now we are initiating Odes on Wodensday (Wednesday). Here is #1.

#1 Ode on Mannin Veen (Dear Isle of Man)

The Isle of Man sits in my thoughts like memory.

I climbed its hills and walked its shores. Remember me?

Mile by mile I traced it in my dreams,

Enchanted by the music Mannin Veen.

The tune, it breaks my heart but why? I cannot say.

The soaring themes tell tales of lovers far away,

Men who may have drowned or maybe seemed

To disappear, lost from their Mannin Veen.

I have never traveled to the Isle of Man,

Never saw its clouds nor touched it soil or sand.

Yet I long for unknown rills and streams

To wash my feet, at home in Mannin Veen.

I sense the joining of our souls from rocks and hills,

Reunion from a life lived long ago. I will

Wonder how I sailed there in between

The Fells of England off to Mannin Veen.

Some how, some where I know I lived there for awhile,

Amid the stones upon the green and sacred isle,

With lords and kings long dead I danced it seems.

It ruled our mighty hearts, my Mannin Veen.

Book Rejections Aren't Personal

2011-05-22T11:43:00.000-07:00

My mother always told me that when people disappoint you, they are revealing more about themselves than about you. Even when they call you names or ignore your hard work, it is always about them. I believed her most of the time. Having an agent or publisher reject your book is pretty much the same thing.

Guest Blogger Ruth Harris, Author, Publisher, independent publisher offered some insider insight today on Anne R. Allen's Blog: What It Really Means When Your Book Gets Rejected. Have a look! This reminds me of the Four Agreements by Ruiz. Don't take it personally. Frankly, this kind of thing is why I am seriously considering independent publish of my witch series. I know the writing doesn't suck. I suspect it is not seen as marketable. I'm willing to bet otherwise.!

Observing Fundamental Foolishness on May 21st

2011-05-21T05:20:00.000-07:00

Sonnet #3
Observing Fundamental Foolishness on May 21st
By Dorothy Abrams 5/21/2011

Some chickens ran around the yard to duck
The sky, seeking shelter from the downpour.
It’s only rain. Wet feathers, dreadful luck,
And nothing more, dear Chicken, nothing more.
The otherside of light is dark; you stare--
Bright door swings open, then shuts black on Them.
Their entrance to our world comes when we dare
Observe the Light/Dark Angels call again.
They vanish then appear as shadows—those
that scare the shit from silly flocks of chicks,
Imagine demons, devils, ghouls and ghosts;
Not fairy dancers playing clever tricks.
Apocalypse occurs within the heart
Afraid of shadows, baffled by the dark.

Saturday Sonnets #2

2011-05-19T13:15:00.001-07:00

Granddaughter: Things Get Better!

A belated Birthday Sonnet 5/12/11

Her sixteen years flew passed me unaware;

Like clouds create a cyclone, suddenly

She stands up like a woman. Does she dare

Progress to writer, thinker? Psychically

She reads her omens, searching out her soul.

She’ll find it on uneasy roads that rise

On upward. Brilliant diamonds come from coal.

Her parents grind their teeth. Fools do grow wise:

When pushed beyond her limits she finds fuel

To shine with unacknowledged radiance,

Miscalculates the world, her home, her school.

A sophomore marches to an off beat cadence.

Remember old heads never fit upon

The neck of youth which triumphs when we’re gone.

Using Social Networking and Blogs

2011-05-12T10:29:00.000-07:00

I am interested in resources that will help me find people interested in my work--people beyond my circle of friends. I imagine you are too if you intend to write for publication, sale or merely to influence the outcome of history. Here is some advice to follow on your twitter, blogs and facbook accounts. I found it in the BookEnds blog by Jessica Faust and her business partner Kim Lionetti. They are Agents.

First look at your social networking accounts closely and assess whether or not they are about you or your readers. They are supposed to be about your readers. I looked at mine and realized they are not. Oops! Now how to make them ore reader oriented. I'm not jumping in to make immediate changes, but your ideas would be apprciated. Jessica advises looking at the parts that are static--what can you do to make that useful information for the visitor? Something that will make them think that yes indeed they are in the right place? I'm thinking a full redesign is in order, but I would love to know: What do you as my handful of readers on this site want? How can I get you to participate in writing? How can we reach out to other writers?

I value your replies.

Saturday Sonnets

2011-05-09T10:55:00.000-07:00

Lessons from Dorothy Pearl

A Mother’s Day Tribute 5/7/2011

My mother’s attributes, and there are scores,
Include her kindness. Friday nights she sat
On lake park benches, sharing fruit with whores
And vagrants. Mortified back then, in fact
I wish today we’d meet and hand out food
In Skaneateles to poor folks buying
Cigarettes. Addiction? She understood,
Smoking them herself too long and trying
Not to for my sake. Compassion. Call it
That, but know we all get stuck in shame and
Feel let down, betrayed, or scared by bandits.
She’d not fire fear and finally blame them--
The poor who spoil band concerts in the park.
She shared her oranges to defeat the dark.

Reviewer Blogs

2011-02-24T10:10:00.000-08:00

Marketing your self published e-book or any other book for that matter includes getting it reviewed by web bloggers. You can find them by a search engine and pin point the right ones for your genre. If the niche market matches the story you deliver, you are off and running! Alan Rinzler has a blog article on how this works.

Conflict and Structure Part II: Tangents

2010-12-11T09:38:00.000-08:00

A mathematical tangent is defined as a line that just touches a curve at one point--and then goes off in its own direction. They are one at a single point. This image reminds me of a hike I took once a long time ago at Beaver Lake Nature Center near Baldwinsville NY. My friend John and I were set on hiking out into the bog on the log path to watch the water fowl. Hiding in a duck blind, we were privileged to see a blue and white kingfisher beat a fish to death on the branch overhead, completely oblivious to our observation. Whack whack whack! He held it in his beak and struck it repeatedly on the tree. Then he flipped it up in the air and caught it. As long it still wiggled, he beat it again. When it proved itself dead, he swallowed it whole. It was a small fish.

Shocked and energized by this nature-in-the-raw vision, we decided to explore a second trail back to our car, a trail that intersected with the first. The point on the arc that served both arc and tangent set us on another trail. Two hours later we had to concede there had been a second and third tangent as we wandered in the woods, lost watching the twilight rise up as the sun went down. How big are these woods? I worried at the possibilities. Eventually we found the edge of a field and followed it back to the thicket by the parking lot. Ours was the last car there, other than the staff. The park ranger looked pleased to see us. On the way home, I used the headlights. That's what a tangent means to me: spontaneous pleasure and seductive danger.

So what is the difference between my story and a tangent that wanders off subject and spoils an essay? After all, the title of this blog promised a discussion of structure and conflict as they relate to tangents. I have no business telling personal tales about being lost in the woods. Or do I? The difference is in the writer's control of the subject and in the written conclusion. If the seemingly unrelated tangent that spins off away from the subject is in fact an illustrative example which makes the point clearer because of the imagery then by all means go there! Too much writing is abstract. I long for more concrete examples and visual feasts. They keep me interested. I then have to have the skill to draw that tangent back to my premise and loop it around in a pretty bow that ties the whole thing together: thesis, illustration and conclusion.

In this case, I wrote a brief reference to the image in my rough draft. Then I went back to tell the story more fully in order to increase the tension when I started the re-write. Why did the kingfisher beat the fish on the branch? How lost were we when we took a different path? Would we find our way out or require rescue? When I had that memory shaped well enough to establish the conflict between intention and outcome, then I could use it in the conclusion. The kingfisher was off topic no more!

A tangent offers the promise of spontaneous pleasure and seductive danger. This is my truth. There is something joyful about recalling random moments of personal history and sticking them into my writing. There is pleasure writing along memory highways which reconnect me to places and people I cared about. There is also seduction. I know this is dangerous, filled with the potential for literary disaster and chaos. I like the challenge. Rather than striking out the tale with a blue pencil, I would rather find a way to make it fit.

Frankly when I started this blog piece, I had no intention of telling my kingfisher story. It popped up spontaneously when I defined the tangent. The challenge, then, came in finding the reason for the memory at this particular point in time. Why did my Muse remind me of that now? Oh! Because it shows the fun of acting spontaneous and the attraction of flirting with disaster. I can weave that together in an essay about tangents. It is exactly on point. Tangents are fun; they can work for you; and they can create confusion which destroys the piece entirely. I think the kingfisher worked to strengthen the point that we court disaster and maintain control. What do you think?

Music and the Creative Process

2010-12-08T12:15:00.000-08:00

Nathan Bransford asked his readers if they listen to music when they write. I suspect most of them do not. One person referred to studies that show students do less well when they study to music. On the other hand, a few commented they needed music to think. I suspect those are the younger plugged-in generation. They do everything to music. Well, so did I, once. The deeper my musical education, the less extraneous the music became. When music is central to your consciousness, it can't be the stimulus to a different process--whether that process is writing, cooking or making love.

Currently I write to the sounds of the keyboard clattering. If there are other sounds in my environment I can't hear them. The discussions in my head drowns them out. Callum says to Elspet....and they she replies..... Alec butts in. Margot makes them all shush and declares what is to be. They carry on like that when I am not writing, let alone when I actually attempt to catch their stories on the computer. How could I listen to music or anything else in the midst of all that racket?

But what about when I am not writing fiction? What do I do when blogging? At the moment as a sort of experiment I am listening to Bridge to Isis an ad libbed or channeled chant CD by Nhanda Devi. The words are in a non language, at least not one recognized by this world. Some of the people who responded to Nathan's question replied they listened to music without words. I thought this CD would qualify, but it does not. I am distracted, pulled away from my thoughts by the haunting sounds and near-words. And of course, just when I manage to set that all aside to write, she starts whispering an English trance induction. Phooey! Listening and blogging are not compatible.

I regret that. I love music. I love sound and the creation of sound. Singing, poetry, chanting, speaking, acting, reading aloud, drumming. I love ever part of it, bringing it up from the inside, moving it through the air to your ears, catching the reflections and echoes of it and drawing it back within my Self. I love and worship sound. How wonderful it would be to include music in my creative process. Unfortunately that only works when I am creating music.

I cannot embrace sound and write easily. I am continuing to experiment with the process as I write this. I feel an internal struggle that requires an act of will to over come my impulse to stop and listen. I also feel pulled down into Devi's trance, and I resist. The CD ended. I replaced it with jazz from Alicia Keys. Will that make a difference? There is a similarity in the artists, believe it or not. Harlem Nocturne includes chanting from the back up singers that sounds remarkable like Devi. Of course that is contrasted to Keys sexy talking and exclamations, as if she is getting it on! She does that well. Obviously, I have tried to create a compromise by writing about the music I am hearing. That of course begs the question.

I do rely on music when writing fiction when I need to capture a mood or emotional place that I have difficulty reaching on my own. Not Keys' sexual innuendo. I understand and resonate with that for sure! I am dancing in my chair. That likely does not improve my typing. No, what I have difficulty understanding is violence, war, warriors, male defense and aggression. Since my second book is the Knights of Lancaster and the fourth will be the story of the summer raids for Lancaster through out the West Ridings of York, I need to be able to feel and embrace their maleness. I need to understand the assurance that might is right, that the humanity of the enemy is discounted. Music is part of my access to that. Oddly Maroon 5 has helped me reach that state of mind. So does conservative political theory, though I usually get mad instead of inspired. Still, the conservative hawks give me words and rationalizations I could not construct out of my own experience.

Another musical aid I have relied on is Celtic music like that of Clannad or Annuna to get me back to the 12th century in Cumbria when my mind is too present in the here and now. Two of my characters are bards. I find medieval music like that of Bells and Motley to set the historically accurate tone of simple tunes and harmonies on alternative instruments since they play the real things. Although I enjoy the the musicality of it, that working is more like research than background music.

For me, music is never background. Even in the car, I am listening deep to the tunes, harmonies, rhythm section, waiting for the surprises. In the current cut on Keys CD (You Don't Know My Name) there is a musical quote of a descending piano scale as in Autumn Leaves. I am totally distracted by hearing that. Then she finishes telling her story by calling the man she is fantasizing about. They make a date. (Well who wouldn't if Alica Keys called them up and said she noticed them?) Nice story. It took over my point that music is never a background. Like air, it permeates everything with meaning. It is my breath and chi.

I even get messages out of the music on the radio. I'd tell you more on that but you'd think I was mentally ill. Suffice it to say my brain makes connections between the songs and my life in surprising ways, ways not obvious to ordinary consciousness. I don't have to be in the car for that to happen, but the randomness of radio music and push buttons amplifies the process. It is like a Christian flipping the Bible open to a page and pointing a finger at the page, expecting to receive a message from God. They really do that, you know. Well that is how I use music. It is spiritual, sexual, creative....oh! And those are all the same things--spirituality, sexuality and creativity.

So no, I don't listen to music to write by. I listen to an experience that fits my writing. Or I work inside my head and let the characters sing.

Dragon Moon Press Open Submissions

2010-12-07T11:10:00.000-08:00

Twice a year, Dragon Moon Press opens the transom and accepts unsolicited manuscripts for full lengths works of fantasy and science fiction. This year I sent The Witches of Fawsetwood on its way for their consideration, even though I had planned to self publish it as an e-book. "One more try" I said to myslef. "One more." If you have something in the right genre and the right length, give it a go. You have until December 31st in this round.

I have mixed emotions about this. Truthfully, I have not sent my book to more than a dozen agents. I have not offered it to any publishers. I am pleased with the novel from structure to characters and certainly the setting, but I can't seem to let it go out there to be handled by strangers. If you asked I would have said I was comfortable with the thought of strangers reading my book, but behavior rules otherwise. So this act of sending the book of to Dragon Moon Press is an act of faith. It is an exercise in risk. It is, above all, evidence I am back in the game.

Writers need to stay in the game. They need to think, write, finish, edit and publish in order to be writers. With the advent of blogs and e-publishing, there is no excuse. Our fates are not held in the hands of strangers. We write and post at will. What we don't do is take that writing seriously. Each status report is an offering. Each blog post is writing sample.

I read blogs. Some are written by professionals focused on their careers. A number are written by friends journaling their way through life. One thing I've learned is many of the blogs in both categories are too general to be interesting or helpful. The writers have not thought deeply enough to vividly describe their thoughts on aging, love, commitments, art, music, cultural transitions--or writing. They offer little original synthesis in their prose.

I'm guilty of that too, when I post and copy without comment some of the best blog offerings here. I can try to excuse myself by saying I was too busy to comment, but that is a half truth at best. I simply added something I wanted to remember to this blog so I could find it again. I did not take time to process it. I did not digest it and create new energy or ideas out of it. I simply stored it. That was not very respectful of any readers who come my way. I blush, embarrassed. I know better. I evaluate and analyze better than that. But over the last several months, I did not do so here. Sorry. (red face again).

My music instructor in high school taught me that an excuse is the skin of a reason stuffed with a lie. I quote him often. His name was Maury Rose. He accepted no excuses for not practicing and preparing for this weeks music lesson. When I was unprepared, I was unprepared. No reason in the world was sufficient to cover that up.

Likewise my writing. It is time again to practice every day. It is time to record what I learn from my practicing. It is time to glean wisdom from my favorite blogs and then write about their thoughts as I think my own. This is hard. There are many distractions.

Sigh. You come too!

Building an Online Following

2010-11-22T10:48:00.001-08:00

Seven Tips on How to Build a Following Online from Nathan Bransford

Note to self--remember these and write more often! Dorothy)

1. Be consistent. We are all creatures of online habit, and if you are hoping to build traffic and a regular audience, it's essential to worm your way into people's routines (much harder than actually getting them to like you!). And in order to do this, it's important to have a posting frequency that your audience knows and expects. Whether you blog/Tweet/Tumble once a day, five times a day, or once a week (but not less than that), know thy social media schedule and keep it holy.

2. Reach out and comment someone. The best way to build traffic is to be noticed. Pick a few well-trafficked blogs and/or Forums, become a fixture, get to know the regulars, write witty comments, and try to attract people naturally your way. The more you invest in other people, and I mean genuinely invest in them, the more they'll be willing to return the favor. Better yet, you might even make some wonderful real-life friends.

3. Take the long view. A following is not built overnight. When impatience enters the picture there's a temptation to be overly controversial, which is a good short-term way of getting traffic, but damaging in the long term. If you make everyone mad people will definitely stop by, but chances are they won't be back.

4. Find your niche. The Internet abhors a vacuum, and it's important to think about what unique information or perspective you will provide. Be as unique and interesting as possible, and make yourself stand out from the pack.

5. Short paragraphs. There are few things less inviting than a massive wall of text. Twitter forces you to be brief, but everywhere else make your paragraphs short and punchy.

6. SEO. SEO stands for Search Engine Optimization. Think about your post titles and imagine what someone would Google if they wanted to know about the topic you're talking about. The more links you receive from other sources the higher your search results, and the more natural traffic you'll receive.

7. Be selfless. It's not about you, it's about your readers and followers. Think about what you are providing them and deliver the goods.

(W)ords and (W)ardances - Challenging characters

2010-02-04T17:06:00.000-08:00

(W)ords and (W)ardances - Challenging characters

Auld Lang Syne

2009-12-31T13:21:00.000-08:00

4:30 pm on New Year's Eve. I added some writing links to this blog in hopes I would remember to check them frequently. You come too. These links will help us write. Regularly, frequently, succinctly. Thoughtfully.

I added my public blogs to my email as a signature, hoping more people would click through and read what I/we write here. I realize I must write about writing more often, despite family obligations, holidays, illness or vacations. All of these things figure in the writer's life. All of them crack open the chest of congested words waiting to pour out on the screen. All the words aspire to MEANING. Meaning. On this New Year's Eve it is my resolution: to find the answer to the producer's question. What's it mean? For Auld Lang Syne.....What does it mean?

The quest for meaning spills over to Anemone's Assays, my blog on pagan living. What does it mean? Where are we going? How do we get there?

I have no answers. This is an existential afternoon. For old times sake.

Sea Walk

2009-11-02T12:04:00.000-08:00

The Sea waves at me
High up on our wooden balcony.
Yesterday He slapped
My ass as I turned 'way
To pick up shells;
Today demands I play and dance
Wild formless patterns
In the sandy water.
He trips me up and sets
My bottom down wet skirts
And shirts twirled by the undertoad
Of magic undulating water in the Sea
Who waves at me.

Dorothy Abrams, Duck North Carolina 26 October 2009

Conflict and Structure Part I

2009-10-16T07:29:00.000-07:00

Today I was reading a book that reminded me of Mrs. Dalloway by Virginia Woolf (1925). Nothing happens. Now Mrs. Dalloway is touted as one of the best 20th century novels in the English language. I know that. But nothing happens. The strength of Woolf's novel is that she places it all in a single day while the title character readies her home for an elegant party. In the course of preparations she lets her mind wander over the choices she has made in her life. Woolf's use of flashbacks is tightly controlled. I admire the structure and control. But nothing happens. It is a character study. Well, in my opinion of course. Actually within a day everything is remembered. All time is now, so a life time happens: a safe life time. A life time of existential angst.

The contemporary novel I was reading today does not have the tight structure of Mrs. Dalloway. The main character does question her choices as she goes through the workaday world. But nothing happens!

Obviously, I have a fiction bias in favor of action plots and dramatic conflict. Alan Rinzler whose blog is listed at the bottom of this page encourages writers to consider the novel as a screenplay in 5 acts. Each chapter is a scene. All of them have rising action, climax falling action and denouement, small plots within the greater plot. Not only does this translate well for the big movie deal, it also moves the story and hooks the reader. I realized his advice would strengthen my own books. The re-writing was tedious; the end result a big improvement! I recommend that structure. Most of the agent blogs I read recommend that structure. A story needs conflict. Something has to happen. If the conflict is internal, then the world outside of the character ought to reflect that conflict. The weather turns rotten for the party. The car breaks down on the highway and a creepy guy tries to help. The dog gets lose and plays tag with cars in the street--outcome to be determined. Can the character rescue herself? Can she avert disaster? Does her life work? Or is it safe? And boring?

Clarissa Dalloway is safe and boring. In the end, she admires suicide which of course was Woolf's existential end.

Back Stories

2009-10-14T11:58:00.000-07:00

The tales behind the tale are commonly known as back stories. How did our character arrive in this fix? Where did the antagonist come from and why? What claims to fame give the shop keeper a license to write plays for production in the local theater company? Does any of that matter?

Well, yes it does matter to the writer. We fall in love with our characters. We want to know everything about them. What we forget is nobody else does. At least they don't want that information before they are hooked by the plot line.

I was reading a novel today that waited until page 24 before the tension started to rise and the conflict appeared. Before that, the characters were milling about having coffee or going to work. Their dialog was made up of the "please pass the sugar" variety. If you x-ed it out, you wouldn't miss a thing that made the book comprehensible. All of the situations in page 1-24 were pieces of back stories about the guy and the girl who will likely fall in love before it is all over.

Back stories are like writing warm ups. They are good exercises but not the point of the book we have to write. I'm not entirely sure all 3 of The Cup and Ring Chronicles I have written aren't elaborate back stories for the real stories about Elspet's married life and Margot's history. Here's what I mean:

The Witches of Fawsetwood introduces the coven in the woods around Margot's cottage, the intrigue and secrets about Elspet and Alec, their convoluted family connections and the pagan practices in Cumberland. Margot's secrets are teased out enough to make you wonder who she is. The tension between the Circles and the Churches starts to build. Alain's crush on Elspet conflicts with Callum's passion for her. Alain grows from a wide eyed boy to a young man fit to be a wiccan priest. That's it. That's all I could fit into 400 pages. It is Alain's narration.

The Knights of Lancaster is Alec's narration. This book exposes dangers faced by the pagans as the Church increases its scrutiny of the Circles. Alec struggles to find the source of a plot against him and with the threats to his sister. He is drawn into the intrigues of the lesser Nobles as he finds his own family tree rooted amongst them. With his father, he sets Elspeth to marry Callum without her consent. Then he directs Alain into another future far afield from being a pagan priest. Returning to the ways of war with his brothers at arms, he is rewarded and warned at the same time. The Goddess will have her due when the Nobles are finished with him. But how that will be is left unresolved.

The Priestess of Heppeshaw gives Elspet her voice. She makes counter plots to those who would marry her off to Callum, but she is out flanked. She resists her calling as priestess, but the Goddess is irresistible. She is seduced by flesh and spirit. Out of that seduction she violates her own rantings against war and violence. Her Visions re-shape her beliefs. She emerges sanctified and powerful but despoiled, which she only partly regrets. The Church begins its claims on her.

Yet none of that tells the story of Elspet as seductress, errant wife, mother and Lady in her own manor. None of it answers the questions about Margot. Who is she? Where did she come from? Why is she so different? Those are the tales I thought I was going to write. So are these novels mere back story? Or are they powerful tales on their own? My liking them is not enough of an answer.

Independent Publishing? A complicated question.

2009-10-13T11:38:00.000-07:00

Victoria Strauss (writer, blogger) in her Writer Beware blog posted today (10/13/09) that Thomas Nelson (Christian Publishing House) has announced an independent publishing imprint West Bow Press. Their expectation is to monetize manuscripts rejected by the commercial house by offering independent publishing sans editor with the promise to monitor the sales for future commercial publication. It's a hope that will attract many writers. Strauss points out West Bow Press is designed, printed and distributed by Author Solutions, the firm which also runs iUniverse, Exlibris and Word Clay. Strauss developed her blog post from a Wall Street Journal story.

She and many in the business surmise this trend will continue with the growth of independent publishing. As it does, Author House snaps up the new companies and adds them to their letterhead. That cuts back on competition which is not necessarily an advantage to the fledgling writer.

Self publishing is strongly discouraged by agents and big name publishing houses. Their disdain may be self serving, but it is also based on the sad fact a self published book rarely faces the strictures of editorial pruning commercially published works face. I've read three different independent authors of late. All of them need strong editorial re-structuring. When I reread my own work, I know it would benefit from the editor's loupe. Independent publishing lets us jump that review.

What mistakes we well educated hopefuls make! I am not referring to grammatical errors and spelling. They can be excised by a diligent copy editor. I mean the nuts and bolts of characterization and plot structure. Description does not create a living character, action does. Situation is not enough to create conflict. Tension must mount and tease at the reader. Repetitive word choices distract the reader from the story. When we write colloquial English we still must rewrite tag phrases that creep into every corner of the narrative: just instead of simply; as well instead of too; cliches instead of a fresh turn of phrase.

But is every book we write commercially viable? Can we convince the publishers of that? Would we make as much money from minimal sales in self publishing as we would with the traditional publishers who pay cents on the dollar? Can our reputations withstand the noble sniff of disapproval in the commercial world? Do we have the knowledge to review a contract and know the red flags when we see them? Either way, we must be engaged in marketing our own work. I naively thought the publishers and agents ran with that ball. Not so.

I do not know the answers to these questions. The more I research, the less certainty I find. Musicians jumped the indie bar some time ago when they started their own independent labels to control of their futures and body of work. Nobody sniffs at them! With the onset of Kindle and with Amazon jumping into the indie market place, the rules of print publishing have changed, but how that is an advantage to me, I have yet to understand.

Writing in the NY Lake District

Happy 2012!

Generosity at Solstice

Setting Up a Facebook Writer's page

Voyage of Purpose by David Bennett and Cindy Griffith-Bennett: A Review for Amazon

Avebury Cosmos by Nicholas R. Mann--a review for Amazon

Weather changes haiku

Good sleeping weatherNo fans, no air, so quiet.Awake waiting dreams

Abandoned Tracks on Lasher Road 9 July 2011

The Peacock Arch--Jaipur

A Summer Solstice Ode

Saturday Sonnets #7 Father's Day 6/19/2011

Ode #3 In Praise of the Ancestors: Sahre de Quincy Lord of Buckby 1090-1158

Sonnet #6 Long Time Ago

HowLydi Survived Sonnet #4

Sonnet #4 Memorial Recollections by DLAbrams 5/29/11

Ode #2 Ode to the Ancestors by Dorothy Abrams

Odes for Wodensday

Book Rejections Aren't Personal

Observing Fundamental Foolishness on May 21st

Saturday Sonnets #2

Using Social Networking and Blogs

Saturday Sonnets

Reviewer Blogs

Conflict and Structure Part II: Tangents

Music and the Creative Process

Dragon Moon Press Open Submissions

Building an Online Following

Seven Tips on How to Build a Following Online from Nathan Bransford

(W)ords and (W)ardances - Challenging characters

Auld Lang Syne

Sea Walk

Conflict and Structure Part I

Back Stories

Independent Publishing? A complicated question.

Good sleeping weather
No fans, no air, so quiet.
Awake waiting dreams