By Nichole Giles
Dee and Sam were doing a little Christmas shopping in an outlet mall. A light, steady snow fell as they walked from store to store, in search of a small pair of snow pants for a grandson coming to visit. It was two weeks until Christmas, and the couple’s daughter and her family would be flying in from Texas to complete the family circle in the holiday celebrations. They wanted nothing more than to be prepared to enjoy every minute of family time.
Sam held the door for Dee as they bustled into a familiar children’s clothing store. Dee scoured the store for the snow pants, and having no luck turned to leave and head to the next store. As she walked past the cash register, she noticed a small tree filled with paper cutouts all over it. A sign next to it read, “Angel Tree.”
Dee paused, noticing how full the tree was and how many needy children remained “un-picked” from the tree. She asked a clerk, “Why is your angel tree still so full?”
“The economy is slow this year,” replied the young woman, sadly. “A lot of people who might usually help others are feeling the strain themselves.”
Something heavy turned over in Dee’s heart. Taking Sam’s hand, Dee removed three little ornaments from the tree and together they filled the simple requests for jackets, shoes, and a pair of warm pajamas.
When Dee put the items on the counter, she set the ornaments on top of each one as she pulled out her wallet to pay. When she looked up to see the total, she noticed a tear running down the clerk’s cheek. “Why are you crying?” Dee asked.
The girl picked up the ornament Dee had placed on a pair of size three, blue, fleece pajamas and said, “I know this little boy. He’s two-years-old, and his mother is young and single. She tries her best to provide for him, but it’s tough. He is so little, and the only thing he wants for Christmas is a warm pair of pajamas because he doesn’t have any.”
Dee’s hand shook as she slid her wallet back in her purse and stepped out of line. “I’ll be right back,” she whispered through tears she hadn’t even realized were falling. Once more, Dee wandered through the store, picking out another pair of pajamas—size three—a warm outfit, and a small toy. When she returned to the clerk she paid the total and asked that the items be delivered to the little boy and his mother.
As they left the store, Dee glanced back at the tree and the paper ornaments left on it.
“You can’t save the whole world, you know,” Sam said, chuckling.
“I know,” Dee said sadly. “But I can do my best to help a few people.”
“Yes,” Sam replied. “Thanks to you a little boy will have what he needs this Christmas.”
“But is it enough?” Dee wondered aloud. “There were so many angels left on that tree.”
“It has to be,” Sam replied. “We’d go broke if you tried to buy gifts for every child on every tree.”
“You’re right, Sam. All we can do is hope that other people step up and give what they can to those who need it the most.”
It is six days to Christmas. Everywhere I go Angel Trees stand full, waiting for someone to fill the small, simple requests of little angels who will otherwise do without. If you happen upon one of these trees, and if you are able to spare a little time and love, please take an ornament and fill the need of a child. Sam was right, no one person can save the world, but if all of us take a minute to help just one person, maybe there won’t be any leftover angels in our corner. What better gift could we give to our Savior?
Merry Christmas!
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Happiest People
By Connie S. Hall
I once heard, “The happiest of people don't necessarily have the best of everything; they just make the most of everything that comes along their way.” Usually I consider myself a happy person. Simple things make me happy.
Through the years, I’ve worked for people who had money. Sometimes I thought their happy moments came when they had been on a large shopping spree. They had the best that money could buy. The trouble was, the more they had, the more they wanted. Watching their children as they have grown into adults has been disturbing. I doubt they ever had to make do with whatever came their way. They don’t know what it’s like to have to struggle.
For every person on earth the meaning of happiness varies. I think everyone will agree that in order to achieve a happier life there are certain things you need to do. Once again I’m sure this list will be different for each individual.
Many people would say that happiness comes from work or else participating in some other sort of enjoyable activity. Having positive family relationships and friends you can count on also contributes a great deal to a person’s happiness.
As I write, some of my most rewarding moments are when I’m alone typing up a storm.
Most writers spend time daydreaming. It’s easy for me to close my eyes and put myself in a different location. I find myself recalling times when I have experienced pleasure, and other positive emotions. When negative feelings come my way the therapy I use is to write about them, and my characters in my stories solve the problem, even if I don’t in my own life.
I am aware of the world around me. When walking, or shopping I watch the sights, hear the sounds, and smell the things around me. This hobby keeps my brain active, and makes me look ahead to my goals.
When I think about happiness it make me think of one of my favorite songs from “South Pacific” called, “Happy Talk”. This song reminds me that I should talk about the things I like to do, and I can have a dream, and it can come true.
As the Christmas holiday approaches, I hope you will each take a moment to think about what makes you happy, and maybe bring some joy to those around you. Merry Christmas
I once heard, “The happiest of people don't necessarily have the best of everything; they just make the most of everything that comes along their way.” Usually I consider myself a happy person. Simple things make me happy.
Through the years, I’ve worked for people who had money. Sometimes I thought their happy moments came when they had been on a large shopping spree. They had the best that money could buy. The trouble was, the more they had, the more they wanted. Watching their children as they have grown into adults has been disturbing. I doubt they ever had to make do with whatever came their way. They don’t know what it’s like to have to struggle.
For every person on earth the meaning of happiness varies. I think everyone will agree that in order to achieve a happier life there are certain things you need to do. Once again I’m sure this list will be different for each individual.
Many people would say that happiness comes from work or else participating in some other sort of enjoyable activity. Having positive family relationships and friends you can count on also contributes a great deal to a person’s happiness.
As I write, some of my most rewarding moments are when I’m alone typing up a storm.
Most writers spend time daydreaming. It’s easy for me to close my eyes and put myself in a different location. I find myself recalling times when I have experienced pleasure, and other positive emotions. When negative feelings come my way the therapy I use is to write about them, and my characters in my stories solve the problem, even if I don’t in my own life.
I am aware of the world around me. When walking, or shopping I watch the sights, hear the sounds, and smell the things around me. This hobby keeps my brain active, and makes me look ahead to my goals.
When I think about happiness it make me think of one of my favorite songs from “South Pacific” called, “Happy Talk”. This song reminds me that I should talk about the things I like to do, and I can have a dream, and it can come true.
As the Christmas holiday approaches, I hope you will each take a moment to think about what makes you happy, and maybe bring some joy to those around you. Merry Christmas
Monday, December 17, 2007
Did Santa Give Pencils?
By C.L. Beck
© 2007
Have you ever wondered what writers were like as kids? Did they want normal things for Christmas, like hula hoops and toy guns? Or did Santa give them pencils and dictionaries?
As a child, I didn’t know someday I would write. It never crossed my mind to wish to beome an author. Instead, I wanted to be the first nun to dig out of Alcatraz … with a spoon … on a dark, moonless night. It also never crossed my mind that a nun was supposed to be holy and therefore, an unlikely candidate for Alcatraz.
In keeping with my cluelessness about my eventual avocation, I never asked for writers’ accoutrements. No requests for pens or paper from me. Not even a tiny, secret wish for a thesaurus.
One Christmas morning, I zipped down the hall and when I caught sight of my stocking hanging by the fireplace, I stopped short. It stretched much longer than normal and I swear, from the shape, it looked like it had a leg in it. Always one for caution, I looked around to see if an axe murderer lurked in the room and had stuffed a leg in my Christmas sock!
After a few minutes, satisfied no one else was in the room, I crept forward. Was it really a sinewy limb? Uggg, it probably rested on a chocolate-marshmallow Santa and cuddled next to an orange. With trepidation—tinged with morbid excitement—I reached in and pulled out … a baseball bat!
Santa, that jolly ol’ elf, had delivered just what I wanted. Softball was one of my favorite sports.
Years later I sit here writing, laughing at the thought of myself as a nun, digging out of Alcatraz. And giggling at the memory of a young girl who thought there was a leg in her stocking.
No, Santa didn’t give me erasers and pads of paper in preparation for my life as a writer. Instead, he gave me an imagination.
What books C.L. recommends:
Life is Like Riding a Unicycle by Shirley Bahlmann
Publishing Secrets by LDS Storymakers (BJ Rowley and others)
Writing for Story: Craft Secrets of Dramatic Nonfiction by Jon Franklin
Self-Editing for Fiction Writers by Rennie Browne & Dave King
View C.L.’s other work:
Newspaper Column
Photography Website
© 2007
Have you ever wondered what writers were like as kids? Did they want normal things for Christmas, like hula hoops and toy guns? Or did Santa give them pencils and dictionaries?
As a child, I didn’t know someday I would write. It never crossed my mind to wish to beome an author. Instead, I wanted to be the first nun to dig out of Alcatraz … with a spoon … on a dark, moonless night. It also never crossed my mind that a nun was supposed to be holy and therefore, an unlikely candidate for Alcatraz.
In keeping with my cluelessness about my eventual avocation, I never asked for writers’ accoutrements. No requests for pens or paper from me. Not even a tiny, secret wish for a thesaurus.
One Christmas morning, I zipped down the hall and when I caught sight of my stocking hanging by the fireplace, I stopped short. It stretched much longer than normal and I swear, from the shape, it looked like it had a leg in it. Always one for caution, I looked around to see if an axe murderer lurked in the room and had stuffed a leg in my Christmas sock!
After a few minutes, satisfied no one else was in the room, I crept forward. Was it really a sinewy limb? Uggg, it probably rested on a chocolate-marshmallow Santa and cuddled next to an orange. With trepidation—tinged with morbid excitement—I reached in and pulled out … a baseball bat!
Santa, that jolly ol’ elf, had delivered just what I wanted. Softball was one of my favorite sports.
Years later I sit here writing, laughing at the thought of myself as a nun, digging out of Alcatraz. And giggling at the memory of a young girl who thought there was a leg in her stocking.
No, Santa didn’t give me erasers and pads of paper in preparation for my life as a writer. Instead, he gave me an imagination.
What books C.L. recommends:
Life is Like Riding a Unicycle by Shirley Bahlmann
Publishing Secrets by LDS Storymakers (BJ Rowley and others)
Writing for Story: Craft Secrets of Dramatic Nonfiction by Jon Franklin
Self-Editing for Fiction Writers by Rennie Browne & Dave King
View C.L.’s other work:
Newspaper Column
Photography Website
Saturday, December 15, 2007
Finding the Magic of Christmas
By Keith Fisher
Christmas has always been a magical time. In this day of so much stifling affluence and abject poverty, it sometimes helps to remember Christmases from the past. Did you ever notice that Christmas was always happier and more magical in our childhood than it is today? Or was it?
One of my favorite Christmases was the year a group of us slept in sleeping bags around the Christmas tree on Christmas night. It was during a time before the ease of freeways, and rather than drive home on icy, two lane, roads, my family made a pilgrimage visit. We stayed over at one house or another and Christmas was at my house that year.
I received a cool penlight in my stocking that morning so I spent most of the night turning it off and on, driving everyone crazy. There were board games, great food, and family togetherness. There was also, the snore of my uncle and aunt the next morning as I sneaked past them to retrieve my clothes from my bedroom. "You just don’t go into the bedroom where a married couple are sleeping," mother said. "Especially if they are newlyweds." Now that I am older, I know she was right.
All in all, that Christmas went down as one of the best two-day events of my life.
Years later, when I was in high school, I tried to rekindle that magic by inviting my recently divorced aunt and her family to stay with us for Christmas. This was after Freeways and they only lived thirty miles away.
My mother was surprised they accepted my invitation, and she was nervous to have the houseguests she wasn’t expecting. I was somewhat disappointed—it wasn’t the same—the magic was different.
In my memory, the earlier Christmas was wonderful, magical, and memorable. I ask myself, why can’t Christmas be like that these days? When I talked to my parents about the holidays of my childhood, I discovered they remember things differently. I got a penlight in my stocking because it was cheap and my parents were struggling, and my mother was frazzled over the logistics of taking care of so many guests. My parents don’t talk about the magic I remember.
We often say Christmas is for the kids, and the magic is in the eyes of your children, and that is true, but what if you don’t have kids? As adults, are we doomed to a life of checkout counter battles, shoveling snow, and cursing our fellowman?
Then there was the year my daughter was born. She was two months old at Christmas time. We placed her in an oversized Christmas stocking and took pictures. We joked that Santa had brought her and she was our Christmas present that year.
The year, my wife had emergency surgery to save her life was a magical Christmas too. I spent money we didn’t have on a Christmas tree. She didn’t like it, but I did my best to make Christmas magical for us. I was just grateful she was still around.
You see it’s a matter of perspective. Children don’t obsess with worries like parents do. To a kid, there is magic in almost everything, especially Christmas. Like the year my daughter was born, we can draw magic from special events and circumstances, but I see adults who thoroughly enjoy Christmas. Between the giving, the singing, the good will to men, and worshipping HE, who gave us Christmas, they are convinced it’s the happiest time of the year.
So, I challenge all of us to find the magic. Have the time of your lives—cut loose, and succumb to the joy. It’s tapping you on the shoulder. Just turn around and take a look. If for no other reason, be glad you made it through another year. As for me, I’m trying to look at it through the eyes of the child I once was.
Good luck in your writing, and Merry Christmas.
Christmas has always been a magical time. In this day of so much stifling affluence and abject poverty, it sometimes helps to remember Christmases from the past. Did you ever notice that Christmas was always happier and more magical in our childhood than it is today? Or was it?
One of my favorite Christmases was the year a group of us slept in sleeping bags around the Christmas tree on Christmas night. It was during a time before the ease of freeways, and rather than drive home on icy, two lane, roads, my family made a pilgrimage visit. We stayed over at one house or another and Christmas was at my house that year.
I received a cool penlight in my stocking that morning so I spent most of the night turning it off and on, driving everyone crazy. There were board games, great food, and family togetherness. There was also, the snore of my uncle and aunt the next morning as I sneaked past them to retrieve my clothes from my bedroom. "You just don’t go into the bedroom where a married couple are sleeping," mother said. "Especially if they are newlyweds." Now that I am older, I know she was right.
All in all, that Christmas went down as one of the best two-day events of my life.
Years later, when I was in high school, I tried to rekindle that magic by inviting my recently divorced aunt and her family to stay with us for Christmas. This was after Freeways and they only lived thirty miles away.
My mother was surprised they accepted my invitation, and she was nervous to have the houseguests she wasn’t expecting. I was somewhat disappointed—it wasn’t the same—the magic was different.
In my memory, the earlier Christmas was wonderful, magical, and memorable. I ask myself, why can’t Christmas be like that these days? When I talked to my parents about the holidays of my childhood, I discovered they remember things differently. I got a penlight in my stocking because it was cheap and my parents were struggling, and my mother was frazzled over the logistics of taking care of so many guests. My parents don’t talk about the magic I remember.
We often say Christmas is for the kids, and the magic is in the eyes of your children, and that is true, but what if you don’t have kids? As adults, are we doomed to a life of checkout counter battles, shoveling snow, and cursing our fellowman?
Then there was the year my daughter was born. She was two months old at Christmas time. We placed her in an oversized Christmas stocking and took pictures. We joked that Santa had brought her and she was our Christmas present that year.
The year, my wife had emergency surgery to save her life was a magical Christmas too. I spent money we didn’t have on a Christmas tree. She didn’t like it, but I did my best to make Christmas magical for us. I was just grateful she was still around.
You see it’s a matter of perspective. Children don’t obsess with worries like parents do. To a kid, there is magic in almost everything, especially Christmas. Like the year my daughter was born, we can draw magic from special events and circumstances, but I see adults who thoroughly enjoy Christmas. Between the giving, the singing, the good will to men, and worshipping HE, who gave us Christmas, they are convinced it’s the happiest time of the year.
So, I challenge all of us to find the magic. Have the time of your lives—cut loose, and succumb to the joy. It’s tapping you on the shoulder. Just turn around and take a look. If for no other reason, be glad you made it through another year. As for me, I’m trying to look at it through the eyes of the child I once was.
Good luck in your writing, and Merry Christmas.
Friday, December 14, 2007
Christmas Cookies
by G.Parker
One of my favorite parts of Christmas is the food. The soups, rolls, dinners, deserts, candy making, cookies... Ah yes, the cookies. Gingerbread, chocolate chip, macaroons, meringues, refrigerator cookies, drop cookies and my most favorite, the sugar cookie.
I have been in search of the perfect sugar cookie recipe. You see, all the recipes I’ve got call for cream of tartar, and I’ve decided it gives them this after taste that I really don’t like. Also, I hate the rolling out, cutting, re-rolling and cutting some more part of sugar cookies...so I usually don’t make them. (I’m lazy that way.) This year I couldn’t stand it, and when I found two different recipes for them that didn’t have that aforementioned ingredient, I proceeded to experiment. One recipe I made, the other I forced my daughter to make. (Okay, I didn’t have to force her, she doesn’t mind cooking when she has a recipe to look at – not my brain that she has to pick for ingredients)
The batch I made turned out okay. It was strange because the recipe tells you to make sure they barely brown and I was used to everyone getting them pretty crisp on the edges. (I like mine soft and chewy.) Frosting turned out to be another trick that I haven’t quite mastered yet. First, one is supposed to glaze them and then add other decorations. While these are gorgeous to look at, it’s a little difficult when those little ingredients are not to be found in the house. I just frosted them like normal. Actually, after the first pan came out, I frosted them and they were gone in seconds flat, so I let my youngest take over the frosting job. He was thrilled, needless to say, and his frosting job didn’t look any worse than mine.
As always, this brought to mind a comparison to writing. The magic of the season is much like the joy and anticipation of picking up a really good book you’ve been wanting to read. Or, perhaps more like a book you’ve read often, and can’t wait to treasure the moment again. It’s the sit-down-and-delve-into-the-pages-with-a-hot-cup-of-cocoa-in-front-of-the-fire feeling. It’s wonderful, relaxing and thrilling all at the same time.
So, since my fellow bloggers have already started the recipe list, I’m adding to it. Here is the recipe my daughter is making and the frosting to go with it. Mix up a batch and hand it out, because the best part about making them (next to eating them) is sharing with those around you!
Frosted Ornament Cookies
(from the newspaper)
1 3/4 C Sifted flour
½ tsp Baking powder
1/4 tsp salt
2/3 C granulated sugar
1 egg
1 tsp vanilla extract
Preheat oven to 400. Sift the flour, baking powder and salt into a piece of waxed paper. In a large bowl, using an electric mixer on medium speed, beat the butter and sugar together until light and fluffy. Beat in the egg and vanilla, then add the flour mixture in thirds, stirring each time until the dough is smooth.
On a lightly floured board, roll the dough out to a thickness of 1/8 inch. Cut into the desired cookie shapes and transfer to an untreated baking sheet. For ornaments, make a 1/4" hole in each cookie with the blunt end of a wooden skewer. Bake just until lightly browned on the bottom and pale golden on top – 6 to 8 minutes. Cool on the pan for 5 minutes then transfer to wire racks.
Simple Glaze
2 1/4 C confectioners sugar
2 TB light corn syrup
1 ½ Tb plus 1 tsp milk
food coloring
In a small bowl, whisk together the powdered sugar, corn syrup and 1 ½ Tb milk. Add the food coloring, if desired. Spread one cookie with the glaze. If the glaze doesn’t smooth out after 1 minute, dribble in additional milk, ½ tsp at a time until glaze reached desired consistency. Use an offset spatula or table knife to spread the glaze on the cookies. This glaze dries hard and shiny, perfect for coating the top surface of your cookies in preparation for decorating.
One of my favorite parts of Christmas is the food. The soups, rolls, dinners, deserts, candy making, cookies... Ah yes, the cookies. Gingerbread, chocolate chip, macaroons, meringues, refrigerator cookies, drop cookies and my most favorite, the sugar cookie.
I have been in search of the perfect sugar cookie recipe. You see, all the recipes I’ve got call for cream of tartar, and I’ve decided it gives them this after taste that I really don’t like. Also, I hate the rolling out, cutting, re-rolling and cutting some more part of sugar cookies...so I usually don’t make them. (I’m lazy that way.) This year I couldn’t stand it, and when I found two different recipes for them that didn’t have that aforementioned ingredient, I proceeded to experiment. One recipe I made, the other I forced my daughter to make. (Okay, I didn’t have to force her, she doesn’t mind cooking when she has a recipe to look at – not my brain that she has to pick for ingredients)
The batch I made turned out okay. It was strange because the recipe tells you to make sure they barely brown and I was used to everyone getting them pretty crisp on the edges. (I like mine soft and chewy.) Frosting turned out to be another trick that I haven’t quite mastered yet. First, one is supposed to glaze them and then add other decorations. While these are gorgeous to look at, it’s a little difficult when those little ingredients are not to be found in the house. I just frosted them like normal. Actually, after the first pan came out, I frosted them and they were gone in seconds flat, so I let my youngest take over the frosting job. He was thrilled, needless to say, and his frosting job didn’t look any worse than mine.
As always, this brought to mind a comparison to writing. The magic of the season is much like the joy and anticipation of picking up a really good book you’ve been wanting to read. Or, perhaps more like a book you’ve read often, and can’t wait to treasure the moment again. It’s the sit-down-and-delve-into-the-pages-with-a-hot-cup-of-cocoa-in-front-of-the-fire feeling. It’s wonderful, relaxing and thrilling all at the same time.
So, since my fellow bloggers have already started the recipe list, I’m adding to it. Here is the recipe my daughter is making and the frosting to go with it. Mix up a batch and hand it out, because the best part about making them (next to eating them) is sharing with those around you!
Frosted Ornament Cookies
(from the newspaper)
1 3/4 C Sifted flour
½ tsp Baking powder
1/4 tsp salt
2/3 C granulated sugar
1 egg
1 tsp vanilla extract
Preheat oven to 400. Sift the flour, baking powder and salt into a piece of waxed paper. In a large bowl, using an electric mixer on medium speed, beat the butter and sugar together until light and fluffy. Beat in the egg and vanilla, then add the flour mixture in thirds, stirring each time until the dough is smooth.
On a lightly floured board, roll the dough out to a thickness of 1/8 inch. Cut into the desired cookie shapes and transfer to an untreated baking sheet. For ornaments, make a 1/4" hole in each cookie with the blunt end of a wooden skewer. Bake just until lightly browned on the bottom and pale golden on top – 6 to 8 minutes. Cool on the pan for 5 minutes then transfer to wire racks.
Simple Glaze
2 1/4 C confectioners sugar
2 TB light corn syrup
1 ½ Tb plus 1 tsp milk
food coloring
In a small bowl, whisk together the powdered sugar, corn syrup and 1 ½ Tb milk. Add the food coloring, if desired. Spread one cookie with the glaze. If the glaze doesn’t smooth out after 1 minute, dribble in additional milk, ½ tsp at a time until glaze reached desired consistency. Use an offset spatula or table knife to spread the glaze on the cookies. This glaze dries hard and shiny, perfect for coating the top surface of your cookies in preparation for decorating.
Thursday, December 13, 2007
Believe
By Nichole Giles
Most adults don’t believe in the Easter Bunny. Nor do they believe in the tooth fairy. And way, way too few grown-ups believe in Santa Claus.
By all accounts, Santa Claus should be hundreds of years old and long past dead from old age. Yet we tell our children all about him, not only allowing them to believe, but encouraging it. When a tooth falls out, we remind our young children to put it under their pillow, just as during the holidays we ask them what Santa will bring and then we take them to the mall to sit on Santa’s lap so they can tell him these things.
Why would smart thinking, full grown adults—who detest lying of any kind—encourage their children to believe in a fictional being? I’ll tell you why. Because secretly, somewhere deep down, we all remember what it’s like to believe in magic. To hope for the impossible and the illogical. We remember what it is to dream.
We want these dreams, this magic, for our kids.
I believe in magic. I believe in the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy, Santa Claus…and what’s more, I believe in fairies who bring to fruition every day magic. A lot of people absorb all the magic they can during the holidays because for some reason, they believe the wonder has to end on December 25th. Does it sound a little crazy that I’m a full grown adult (I will not mention my age) who never forgets to thank the parking fairy when I get the perfect spot?
The point is, growing up and becoming adults doesn’t have to mean we stop believing in the wonderful and magical things we knew as children. On the contrary. Once we grow up we get to see the other side of the magic, which makes it all the sweeter.
We write because we dream, and we dream because we can, because we were taught by our parents that it’s okay to feel like that. Magic has a place, and a reason. And dreams encourage hope.
Hope. Dreams. Magic. Three of my favorite words. No wonder I’m a writer!
Most adults don’t believe in the Easter Bunny. Nor do they believe in the tooth fairy. And way, way too few grown-ups believe in Santa Claus.
By all accounts, Santa Claus should be hundreds of years old and long past dead from old age. Yet we tell our children all about him, not only allowing them to believe, but encouraging it. When a tooth falls out, we remind our young children to put it under their pillow, just as during the holidays we ask them what Santa will bring and then we take them to the mall to sit on Santa’s lap so they can tell him these things.
Why would smart thinking, full grown adults—who detest lying of any kind—encourage their children to believe in a fictional being? I’ll tell you why. Because secretly, somewhere deep down, we all remember what it’s like to believe in magic. To hope for the impossible and the illogical. We remember what it is to dream.
We want these dreams, this magic, for our kids.
I believe in magic. I believe in the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy, Santa Claus…and what’s more, I believe in fairies who bring to fruition every day magic. A lot of people absorb all the magic they can during the holidays because for some reason, they believe the wonder has to end on December 25th. Does it sound a little crazy that I’m a full grown adult (I will not mention my age) who never forgets to thank the parking fairy when I get the perfect spot?
The point is, growing up and becoming adults doesn’t have to mean we stop believing in the wonderful and magical things we knew as children. On the contrary. Once we grow up we get to see the other side of the magic, which makes it all the sweeter.
We write because we dream, and we dream because we can, because we were taught by our parents that it’s okay to feel like that. Magic has a place, and a reason. And dreams encourage hope.
Hope. Dreams. Magic. Three of my favorite words. No wonder I’m a writer!
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Count The Memories
By Connie S. Hall
As each year comes to an end, I think about all that has happened to my family throughout the last twelve months. These thought make me think of something I heard a long time ago, “Don't count the years-count the memories...........”
Since this year isn’t over yet, I asked myself, “What have I done this year to give my family good memories?” My answer was, “I took the grandchildren out to do something special on their birthday.” Somehow, I’m not sure that is enough.
At this point, I’m thinking a better question is, “What can I do this Christmas to give my loved ones something to remember?”
We always have the traditional get together for all the children and grandchildren. Those in Colorado never come because of weather conditions, but the rest of us look forward to our time together. Because I like things different, each time we meet my mind has to ponder something new and unusual for us to do.
There is the food – we always have food. This year for something out of the ordinary, we will have hot soup and chili with scones. After exchanging gifts there will be hot chocolate, with plenty of marshmallows and cream.
The gifts I’m giving are not uncommon – I always give books, along with one other carefully chosen gift. Besides the presents for everyone to open I also go to the dollar store and purchase something for each person. Then we play a game. We have played many left to right games, but this year we are doing a number game where each person gets to choose what they want. That doesn’t mean they get to keep it because others get to snatch it away when there number comes up. I’m not sure being number one is the best spot. I’m hoping to get number twenty.
None of the above things seem as though I’m doing anything significant that will stick in anyone’s memory bank. I know I’ll think of something, but will it be in time for the big event?
Two things that have come to my mind is –
1. I’ve written several stories about my grandchildren, maybe I should give them a copy of the story. That means I had better get some stories written for the other grandchildren so everyone has one.
2. I have several special keepsakes from my grandparents that maybe I should bring out of storage and share with my children.
The big event is on Saturday, so if anyone thinks of something I can do for my loved ones that they will remember forever, please comment.
As each year comes to an end, I think about all that has happened to my family throughout the last twelve months. These thought make me think of something I heard a long time ago, “Don't count the years-count the memories...........”
Since this year isn’t over yet, I asked myself, “What have I done this year to give my family good memories?” My answer was, “I took the grandchildren out to do something special on their birthday.” Somehow, I’m not sure that is enough.
At this point, I’m thinking a better question is, “What can I do this Christmas to give my loved ones something to remember?”
We always have the traditional get together for all the children and grandchildren. Those in Colorado never come because of weather conditions, but the rest of us look forward to our time together. Because I like things different, each time we meet my mind has to ponder something new and unusual for us to do.
There is the food – we always have food. This year for something out of the ordinary, we will have hot soup and chili with scones. After exchanging gifts there will be hot chocolate, with plenty of marshmallows and cream.
The gifts I’m giving are not uncommon – I always give books, along with one other carefully chosen gift. Besides the presents for everyone to open I also go to the dollar store and purchase something for each person. Then we play a game. We have played many left to right games, but this year we are doing a number game where each person gets to choose what they want. That doesn’t mean they get to keep it because others get to snatch it away when there number comes up. I’m not sure being number one is the best spot. I’m hoping to get number twenty.
None of the above things seem as though I’m doing anything significant that will stick in anyone’s memory bank. I know I’ll think of something, but will it be in time for the big event?
Two things that have come to my mind is –
1. I’ve written several stories about my grandchildren, maybe I should give them a copy of the story. That means I had better get some stories written for the other grandchildren so everyone has one.
2. I have several special keepsakes from my grandparents that maybe I should bring out of storage and share with my children.
The big event is on Saturday, so if anyone thinks of something I can do for my loved ones that they will remember forever, please comment.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Deadlines
By Darvell Hunt
Talent, courage, and inspiration create writers. Perseverance, experience, and deadlines create authors.
I’m somewhere between these two right now. I’m definitely a writer; I know that. I have numerous finished novels to prove it. What I’m working on now is becoming an author—and what I mean by that is becoming published.
Deadlines can help with getting published. One of the best things I learned while writing for a local hometown newspaper was writing on demand. Submissios had to be made by the deadline or they would not appear in the next issue of the paper. It was that simple. You write your story on time or it doesn’t get published.
Deadlines also work with novels and other forms of writing, even if they are self-imposed.
I’m planning to have two novels ready to submit by the end of this week. They need some final edits and then need to be printed out. By Saturday, this will be done.
That’s a deadline. I hope it helps me progress toward my goal of becoming a published novelist.
Talent, courage, and inspiration create writers. Perseverance, experience, and deadlines create authors.
I’m somewhere between these two right now. I’m definitely a writer; I know that. I have numerous finished novels to prove it. What I’m working on now is becoming an author—and what I mean by that is becoming published.
Deadlines can help with getting published. One of the best things I learned while writing for a local hometown newspaper was writing on demand. Submissios had to be made by the deadline or they would not appear in the next issue of the paper. It was that simple. You write your story on time or it doesn’t get published.
Deadlines also work with novels and other forms of writing, even if they are self-imposed.
I’m planning to have two novels ready to submit by the end of this week. They need some final edits and then need to be printed out. By Saturday, this will be done.
That’s a deadline. I hope it helps me progress toward my goal of becoming a published novelist.
Monday, December 10, 2007
December Writer’s Block
By C.L. Beck
© 2007
Christmas is coming! There are presents to buy and wrap, parties to attend, visiting teaching assignments and gifts to take. Then there are the lights to hang—ooo, watch out! Don’t slip off that roof or there’ll be a hospital visit to make. And if that’s not enough, there are still cookies to bake.
A to-do list like that is enough to wear you out, run you down and give you writer’s block to boot. What can you do about it? Fix a batch of “Writer’s Block Cookies”. Once they’re baked and cooling, sit down at your computer and write. For every five minutes you write, you’ve earned one cookie to eat. If you work for half an hour, you not only get to eat six cookies, but you deserve a cup of hot chocolate as a bonus.
A motivation like cookies and hot chocolate will break any writer’s block. And after you've got your thoughts down, go sit in front of the tree with your well-deserved reward, turn on the Christmas music, eat your cookies and enjoy a peaceful moment in the holiday season.
Writer’s Block Cookies
1 box spice cake mix (dry)
15 oz. can of pumpkin
1- 12 oz. bag of chocolate chips
Nuts (I use pecans)
Raisins (Optional. I don’t like them, but lots of people do.)
Mix cake mix and pumpkin in a large bowl. Add chocolate chips, nuts and raisins. Dough will be slightly sticky. Drop by tablespoon full onto greased or parchment lined cookie sheet. Bake in preheated 350 degree oven for 12-15 minutes. Remove from oven. Let stand for one minute, and then place on rack to cool. Serves: One person with writer’s block and a couple of neighbors. (About 3 dozen cookies.)
What books C.L. recommends:
Life is Like Riding a Unicycle by Shirley Bahlmann
Publishing Secrets by LDS Storymakers (BJ Rowley and others)
Writing for Story: Craft Secrets of Dramatic Nonfiction by Jon Franklin
Self-Editing for Fiction Writers by Rennie Browne & Dave King
View C.L.’s other work:
Newspaper Column
Photography Website
© 2007
Christmas is coming! There are presents to buy and wrap, parties to attend, visiting teaching assignments and gifts to take. Then there are the lights to hang—ooo, watch out! Don’t slip off that roof or there’ll be a hospital visit to make. And if that’s not enough, there are still cookies to bake.
A to-do list like that is enough to wear you out, run you down and give you writer’s block to boot. What can you do about it? Fix a batch of “Writer’s Block Cookies”. Once they’re baked and cooling, sit down at your computer and write. For every five minutes you write, you’ve earned one cookie to eat. If you work for half an hour, you not only get to eat six cookies, but you deserve a cup of hot chocolate as a bonus.
A motivation like cookies and hot chocolate will break any writer’s block. And after you've got your thoughts down, go sit in front of the tree with your well-deserved reward, turn on the Christmas music, eat your cookies and enjoy a peaceful moment in the holiday season.
Writer’s Block Cookies
1 box spice cake mix (dry)
15 oz. can of pumpkin
1- 12 oz. bag of chocolate chips
Nuts (I use pecans)
Raisins (Optional. I don’t like them, but lots of people do.)
Mix cake mix and pumpkin in a large bowl. Add chocolate chips, nuts and raisins. Dough will be slightly sticky. Drop by tablespoon full onto greased or parchment lined cookie sheet. Bake in preheated 350 degree oven for 12-15 minutes. Remove from oven. Let stand for one minute, and then place on rack to cool. Serves: One person with writer’s block and a couple of neighbors. (About 3 dozen cookies.)
What books C.L. recommends:
Life is Like Riding a Unicycle by Shirley Bahlmann
Publishing Secrets by LDS Storymakers (BJ Rowley and others)
Writing for Story: Craft Secrets of Dramatic Nonfiction by Jon Franklin
Self-Editing for Fiction Writers by Rennie Browne & Dave King
View C.L.’s other work:
Newspaper Column
Photography Website
Saturday, December 08, 2007
Fighting the Urge
By Keith Fisher
I made procrastination into an art form this week. I’ve been writing the family newsletter and I got bogged down playing with PhotoShop. When I worked as a typesetter I could knock out a two-page newsletter in a few minutes, but trouble with Word, and Page-maker, added time to the project, all the while, I could see my edits slipping further and further from my grasp.
You may wonder why I’m telling you this . . . well, it’s Friday night, I don’t have my blog written, and that is my excuse.
Although I have been working on a blog this week and I hoped to be finished last Monday, but well, you know what happened. I’ll get back to it this week I promise. Then again, I noticed that Danyelle Ferguson tagged me for another game. Maybe I’d better do that instead.
I saw a sketch on The Carol Burnett Show once, where a writer was trying to plot a story. He kept typing and striking out what he wrote. In the mean time, the characters were behind him acting out what was on the page. It was hilarious—the characters had to stop what they were doing and switch. I don’t remember all the particulars, but the writer killed one of them, then changed his mind in favor of killing someone else. The actor fell dead only to stand up and push the other actor down.
The sketch ended when the writer finally got tired of it, took two aspirins, and walked away. The characters were left to deal with two large, white, tablets crashing down on top of them.
Sometimes things go that way, and there’s no harm in taking a chocolate break, but we need to remember to get back in the chair as soon as possible. It can be hard to continue a story after distractions take us away from it. We can’t give up and drop large, white, tablets on our characters.
Now that I’ve said it, I need to practice what I preach, instead of taking aspirins, I think I’ll toss the other stuff, and get back to my characters. They’ve been beckoning to me since I drifted off into regions far removed. Good luck in your writing, and let me know what it is, that steals time away from your work.
I made procrastination into an art form this week. I’ve been writing the family newsletter and I got bogged down playing with PhotoShop. When I worked as a typesetter I could knock out a two-page newsletter in a few minutes, but trouble with Word, and Page-maker, added time to the project, all the while, I could see my edits slipping further and further from my grasp.
You may wonder why I’m telling you this . . . well, it’s Friday night, I don’t have my blog written, and that is my excuse.
Although I have been working on a blog this week and I hoped to be finished last Monday, but well, you know what happened. I’ll get back to it this week I promise. Then again, I noticed that Danyelle Ferguson tagged me for another game. Maybe I’d better do that instead.
I saw a sketch on The Carol Burnett Show once, where a writer was trying to plot a story. He kept typing and striking out what he wrote. In the mean time, the characters were behind him acting out what was on the page. It was hilarious—the characters had to stop what they were doing and switch. I don’t remember all the particulars, but the writer killed one of them, then changed his mind in favor of killing someone else. The actor fell dead only to stand up and push the other actor down.
The sketch ended when the writer finally got tired of it, took two aspirins, and walked away. The characters were left to deal with two large, white, tablets crashing down on top of them.
Sometimes things go that way, and there’s no harm in taking a chocolate break, but we need to remember to get back in the chair as soon as possible. It can be hard to continue a story after distractions take us away from it. We can’t give up and drop large, white, tablets on our characters.
Now that I’ve said it, I need to practice what I preach, instead of taking aspirins, I think I’ll toss the other stuff, and get back to my characters. They’ve been beckoning to me since I drifted off into regions far removed. Good luck in your writing, and let me know what it is, that steals time away from your work.
Friday, December 07, 2007
God Bless Us, Every One
by G.Parker
Well, it’s that time of year again. Yep – Christmas. And while everyone is hustling around trying to find the perfect gift and going crazy like the Who’s in Whoville, I have just one suggestion for you: Watch a movie.
That’s right. I think often the cures of this season are found in three things: Family, service and movies. Family is always best, and service with family makes things even sweeter. But after that wonderful service is done, and you’re all home sitting and drinking hot chocolate, it’s the perfect time to watch a movie together.
There is ample selection to choose from. Our family favorites include: The Grinch Who Stole Christmas (both versions), Miracle on 34th Street, (I prefer the older version) It’s a Wonderful Life, Muppet Christmas Carol (the old VHS finally died, and we are actually getting it on dvd! And we still skip the long singing part in the middle), Home Alone and Home Alone 2, While You Were Sleeping, The Christmas Story, The Nutcracker (almost any version, but the one with Baryshnikov is best), Joy to the World (the LDS church dvd), Mr. Kruegers Christmas, Scrooged (we love the ghost of Christmas present!), and my all time favorite, A Christmas Carol with George C. Scott. That is by far my favorite one. The other versions just don’t have the same feeling.
There are several reasons why this movie is my favorite, but mainly it just brings back the true feeling of Christmas and the knowledge that we haven’t run out of time, we can still change. I hope for it every year. So, along with Tiny Tim, who valiantly stood against the gruffy, stern old Scrooge, I wish you all a very happy holiday season, and say, “God bless us, every one!
Well, it’s that time of year again. Yep – Christmas. And while everyone is hustling around trying to find the perfect gift and going crazy like the Who’s in Whoville, I have just one suggestion for you: Watch a movie.
That’s right. I think often the cures of this season are found in three things: Family, service and movies. Family is always best, and service with family makes things even sweeter. But after that wonderful service is done, and you’re all home sitting and drinking hot chocolate, it’s the perfect time to watch a movie together.
There is ample selection to choose from. Our family favorites include: The Grinch Who Stole Christmas (both versions), Miracle on 34th Street, (I prefer the older version) It’s a Wonderful Life, Muppet Christmas Carol (the old VHS finally died, and we are actually getting it on dvd! And we still skip the long singing part in the middle), Home Alone and Home Alone 2, While You Were Sleeping, The Christmas Story, The Nutcracker (almost any version, but the one with Baryshnikov is best), Joy to the World (the LDS church dvd), Mr. Kruegers Christmas, Scrooged (we love the ghost of Christmas present!), and my all time favorite, A Christmas Carol with George C. Scott. That is by far my favorite one. The other versions just don’t have the same feeling.
There are several reasons why this movie is my favorite, but mainly it just brings back the true feeling of Christmas and the knowledge that we haven’t run out of time, we can still change. I hope for it every year. So, along with Tiny Tim, who valiantly stood against the gruffy, stern old Scrooge, I wish you all a very happy holiday season, and say, “God bless us, every one!
Thursday, December 06, 2007
Dear Santa
By Nichole Giles
Dear Santa,
I know you must be really busy this month, so I thought I’d just drop you a little note to let you know that I’ve been really, really good this year. I’ve done my best to keep my house clean, my errands run, my bills paid. I’ve tried to take my children to get regular checkups at the doctor and dentist, and all of them are vaccinated. I know I’m not the best cook, but at least no one at my house goes hungry—unless I burn the food and then we go out. I try to love my neighbors, even when their dog does his business on my front lawn. I also try to be nice to the dog. And I’ve made sure to thank every editor that has rejected my work.
I’ve really tried hard, Santa. I just want you to know that. Now that you know, I wondered if you could do me a little favor. I’m only asking for one thing this Christmas, and I was hoping I could have it a little bit early. You see, there are so many things to accomplish in a day, and the hours slip by so quickly. I know you have a relationship with Father Time—how else could you visit every person in the entire world in one night? I was wondering if you could arrange for me to have a little more time this month?
There are so many things I’d like to do. I want to finish my book by the end of the year, and still have time to finish my holiday shopping and decorating. I was hoping to take my family to see the play “A Christmas Carol,” and also the lights at Temple Square. I wouldn’t mind going on a date with my husband, to lunch with my mother, and for a night out with my girlfriends. I plan to go to every holiday party we’re invited to, and then throw one myself. I need to make my niece’s wedding cake in time to throw my son a birthday party next Saturday, attend the wedding, and still have time to use the bathroom if the urge arises. Please Santa, I’d love to set aside a day or two for gift wrapping. And I promised my children we’d make candy this year.
Perhaps, if he can spare it, Father Time would be willing to throw in a couple of extra days (if you feel like I deserve it of course) so I can go visit my sister in Texas? I miss her so much during the holidays.
I know I’m asking for a lot, as it’s something the elves can’t make in the shop. And it probably sounds selfish—I try so hard not to be selfish—but I was hoping maybe, just this one month, that you could give me 30 hours in every day. Maybe then I could be super mom and do it all.
Thanks for trying, if you can. I hope you and Mrs. C are planning a wonderful vacation on the 26th, and that you will have a safe trip around the world.
Your faithful believing friend,
Nichole
PS I forgot to tell you that I never stopped believing in you. Really, honestly I didn’t.
Dear Santa,
I know you must be really busy this month, so I thought I’d just drop you a little note to let you know that I’ve been really, really good this year. I’ve done my best to keep my house clean, my errands run, my bills paid. I’ve tried to take my children to get regular checkups at the doctor and dentist, and all of them are vaccinated. I know I’m not the best cook, but at least no one at my house goes hungry—unless I burn the food and then we go out. I try to love my neighbors, even when their dog does his business on my front lawn. I also try to be nice to the dog. And I’ve made sure to thank every editor that has rejected my work.
I’ve really tried hard, Santa. I just want you to know that. Now that you know, I wondered if you could do me a little favor. I’m only asking for one thing this Christmas, and I was hoping I could have it a little bit early. You see, there are so many things to accomplish in a day, and the hours slip by so quickly. I know you have a relationship with Father Time—how else could you visit every person in the entire world in one night? I was wondering if you could arrange for me to have a little more time this month?
There are so many things I’d like to do. I want to finish my book by the end of the year, and still have time to finish my holiday shopping and decorating. I was hoping to take my family to see the play “A Christmas Carol,” and also the lights at Temple Square. I wouldn’t mind going on a date with my husband, to lunch with my mother, and for a night out with my girlfriends. I plan to go to every holiday party we’re invited to, and then throw one myself. I need to make my niece’s wedding cake in time to throw my son a birthday party next Saturday, attend the wedding, and still have time to use the bathroom if the urge arises. Please Santa, I’d love to set aside a day or two for gift wrapping. And I promised my children we’d make candy this year.
Perhaps, if he can spare it, Father Time would be willing to throw in a couple of extra days (if you feel like I deserve it of course) so I can go visit my sister in Texas? I miss her so much during the holidays.
I know I’m asking for a lot, as it’s something the elves can’t make in the shop. And it probably sounds selfish—I try so hard not to be selfish—but I was hoping maybe, just this one month, that you could give me 30 hours in every day. Maybe then I could be super mom and do it all.
Thanks for trying, if you can. I hope you and Mrs. C are planning a wonderful vacation on the 26th, and that you will have a safe trip around the world.
Your faithful believing friend,
Nichole
PS I forgot to tell you that I never stopped believing in you. Really, honestly I didn’t.
Wednesday, December 05, 2007
December
By Connie S. Hall
I’m sure for you and for me December is the busiest month of the year. It is the twelfth and last month. Without Christmas to keep us busy, I still think everyone would scurry around trying to finish his or her yearlong goals before the New Year. At least we have the full thirty-one days to try to fit everything in.
I looked up December in the Wikipedia Encyclopedia. There is plenty of information. I looked over the events for the month and my eyes couldn’t believe that there is a day set aside for a fictional holiday, Festivus, on December 23. I wonder where I have been. Every writer should be aware of this holiday. I guess if I were a Seinfeld fan, I would have known about this sooner.
It is a holiday invented by none other than Reader’s Digest. First, as I understand it, there is a dinner served. Immediately following begins the “Airing of Grievances”. It consists of every one telling all the ways everyone has disappointed them over the past year. Then I guess as entertainment, they perform feats of strength.
The dinner part sounds wonderful. I never pass up a good dinner. I certainly don’t want to tell everyone all the little things they have done to disappoint me throughout the year. Such an act would definitely start a few brawls. My achievements with strength are limited so everyone would laugh at me.
As a writer, the only people I would like to express my complaints to are the editors, every single one of them. A writer friend and I were discussing what an impossible task it is to please an editor. They want you to write the same thing, but in a new way. They expect you to know what they want. My objections could go on and on. I certainly have a difficult time knowing how to please them. If I keep writing, maybe someday I’ll figure the entire thing out and write something someone wants. Meanwhile I will continue writing, but I’m not going to celebrate Festivus.
I’m sure for you and for me December is the busiest month of the year. It is the twelfth and last month. Without Christmas to keep us busy, I still think everyone would scurry around trying to finish his or her yearlong goals before the New Year. At least we have the full thirty-one days to try to fit everything in.
I looked up December in the Wikipedia Encyclopedia. There is plenty of information. I looked over the events for the month and my eyes couldn’t believe that there is a day set aside for a fictional holiday, Festivus, on December 23. I wonder where I have been. Every writer should be aware of this holiday. I guess if I were a Seinfeld fan, I would have known about this sooner.
It is a holiday invented by none other than Reader’s Digest. First, as I understand it, there is a dinner served. Immediately following begins the “Airing of Grievances”. It consists of every one telling all the ways everyone has disappointed them over the past year. Then I guess as entertainment, they perform feats of strength.
The dinner part sounds wonderful. I never pass up a good dinner. I certainly don’t want to tell everyone all the little things they have done to disappoint me throughout the year. Such an act would definitely start a few brawls. My achievements with strength are limited so everyone would laugh at me.
As a writer, the only people I would like to express my complaints to are the editors, every single one of them. A writer friend and I were discussing what an impossible task it is to please an editor. They want you to write the same thing, but in a new way. They expect you to know what they want. My objections could go on and on. I certainly have a difficult time knowing how to please them. If I keep writing, maybe someday I’ll figure the entire thing out and write something someone wants. Meanwhile I will continue writing, but I’m not going to celebrate Festivus.
Tuesday, December 04, 2007
Being different, Yet Remaining the Same
By Darvell Hunt
Publishers say they are looking for the next great idea for a book, yet they are leery about doing something drastically different. What a strange contradiction.
Many of the recent “break out” books have been stories that publishers have gone out on a limb to publish, yet publishers still tend to remain rather conservative in what they will print.
That makes decisions rather difficult for us writers. Do we try to write material like what we see currently out there that is selling well, assuming that there is a market for it, or do we try to create something new and exciting and different, and hope a publisher will take the chance on us?
Today I’m full of questions, but short on answers. What do you think?
Publishers say they are looking for the next great idea for a book, yet they are leery about doing something drastically different. What a strange contradiction.
Many of the recent “break out” books have been stories that publishers have gone out on a limb to publish, yet publishers still tend to remain rather conservative in what they will print.
That makes decisions rather difficult for us writers. Do we try to write material like what we see currently out there that is selling well, assuming that there is a market for it, or do we try to create something new and exciting and different, and hope a publisher will take the chance on us?
Today I’m full of questions, but short on answers. What do you think?
Monday, December 03, 2007
Child of the Corn
By C.L. Beck
© 2007
I was lost and running blindly, wanting to scream for help. Instead, I turned to my husband, Russ, and said, “This corn maze we’re in—is it supposed to be fun?”
“Yup,” he said with a grin while jumping a mud puddle wide enough to be Utah Lake.
“Which way should we turn?” I don’t know why I asked him. This is the man who gets lost on his way to the post office. But to be fair, he is good at finding the potato chip aisle in the grocery store. And since both potatoes and corn are vegetables, I hoped he’d know how to get out of the maze.
“I’m not sure,” Russ replied. He looked at the young man next to him and asked, “What do you think?” That young man was the world’s cutest, smartest, fastest soccer player. Coincidentally, he’s also our five-year-old grandson.
“This way,” Cameron said, pointing to the left.
I looked at the turn and wondered if he’d inherited Russ’s sense of direction. “Isn’t this the same circle we’ve been traveling since we stepped into this place?” The path held another puddle with footprints around it—no doubt made by lost souls who were doomed to wander the corn maze until next spring, when the farmer finally tilled the fields.
I looked at Russ and Cameron’s shoes. Mud coated them. We were the doomed wanderers.
Then I heard voices. People! Maybe they knew something. “Is this the way out?” I asked the two women as I pointed in the opposite direction.
“No, that goes in a loop.” They giggled. I’m sure they were just pretending to have fun. As they trotted off one of them called over her shoulder, “Does the path you were on go anywhere?”
Russ said, “Sure. Maybe. Eventually. Or it might go in a circle.”
By now dark clouds were forming. A breeze rustled the leaves. My mind filled with visions from Stephen King’s book, “Children of the Corn”. And I’d never even read that novel.
Pollen drifted through the air, along with the scent of something yucky—mildew. I could feel my lungs tightening. No doubt the sadistic farmer who created this labyrinth would find me here next spring, lying at the base of the moldy, tattered stalks, gasping my last breath.
Suddenly, I heard voices again. For a moment, I wondered if angels were coming to take me to my rest.
Two teenagers in dark shirts and jeans walked past. A sadistic laugh escaped from my lips and I called out, “You’re lost too, aren’t you?”
Their voices floated back on the wind as they disappeared around the turn. “No, we work here.”
I turned to Russ. “They work here?”
“Yes, didn’t you see that their shirts said, ‘Corn Cops’?”
I grabbed Russ by the collar—not an easy task since he’s taller than I. “They know how to get out of this forsaken place. And they’ve just vanished through the corn! Quick, run after them and get directions.”
I should have known better. No man will ever ask for directions. Not even one who’s lost in a muddy cornfield with a category five hurricane ready to break overhead.
Fortunately, another couple wandered toward us. I managed to croak through my mildew-tightened voice, “Do you know how to get out?”
“Take the next two turns to the left,” they said, hurrying past. I’m sure my glazed eyes and panic-stricken expression had nothing to do with their haste.
Thunderclouds blocked the sun and the wind blew harder. Running the final distance, I leapt out of the maze. Russ and Cameron followed close behind, exultant at finishing without personally asking for directions.
“How long were we in there?” I said, gasping for breath.
Russ looked at his watch. “Ooo, a long time! All of 15 minutes.” Then he grinned, “If you’d thought to ask those two Corn Cops for directions, we’d have been out a lot sooner.”
If there’d been a corncob in my hand, I’d have chucked it at him. But I didn’t have one—and there was no way I was going back into that maize-of-doom to get one.
What books C.L. recommends:
Life is Like Riding a Unicycle by Shirley Bahlmann
Publishing Secrets by LDS Storymakers (BJ Rowley and others)
Writing for Story: Craft Secrets of Dramatic Nonfiction by Jon Franklin
Self-Editing for Fiction Writers by Rennie Browne & Dave King
View C.L.’s other work:
Newspaper Column
Photography Website
© 2007
I was lost and running blindly, wanting to scream for help. Instead, I turned to my husband, Russ, and said, “This corn maze we’re in—is it supposed to be fun?”
“Yup,” he said with a grin while jumping a mud puddle wide enough to be Utah Lake.
“Which way should we turn?” I don’t know why I asked him. This is the man who gets lost on his way to the post office. But to be fair, he is good at finding the potato chip aisle in the grocery store. And since both potatoes and corn are vegetables, I hoped he’d know how to get out of the maze.
“I’m not sure,” Russ replied. He looked at the young man next to him and asked, “What do you think?” That young man was the world’s cutest, smartest, fastest soccer player. Coincidentally, he’s also our five-year-old grandson.
“This way,” Cameron said, pointing to the left.
I looked at the turn and wondered if he’d inherited Russ’s sense of direction. “Isn’t this the same circle we’ve been traveling since we stepped into this place?” The path held another puddle with footprints around it—no doubt made by lost souls who were doomed to wander the corn maze until next spring, when the farmer finally tilled the fields.
I looked at Russ and Cameron’s shoes. Mud coated them. We were the doomed wanderers.
Then I heard voices. People! Maybe they knew something. “Is this the way out?” I asked the two women as I pointed in the opposite direction.
“No, that goes in a loop.” They giggled. I’m sure they were just pretending to have fun. As they trotted off one of them called over her shoulder, “Does the path you were on go anywhere?”
Russ said, “Sure. Maybe. Eventually. Or it might go in a circle.”
By now dark clouds were forming. A breeze rustled the leaves. My mind filled with visions from Stephen King’s book, “Children of the Corn”. And I’d never even read that novel.
Pollen drifted through the air, along with the scent of something yucky—mildew. I could feel my lungs tightening. No doubt the sadistic farmer who created this labyrinth would find me here next spring, lying at the base of the moldy, tattered stalks, gasping my last breath.
Suddenly, I heard voices again. For a moment, I wondered if angels were coming to take me to my rest.
Two teenagers in dark shirts and jeans walked past. A sadistic laugh escaped from my lips and I called out, “You’re lost too, aren’t you?”
Their voices floated back on the wind as they disappeared around the turn. “No, we work here.”
I turned to Russ. “They work here?”
“Yes, didn’t you see that their shirts said, ‘Corn Cops’?”
I grabbed Russ by the collar—not an easy task since he’s taller than I. “They know how to get out of this forsaken place. And they’ve just vanished through the corn! Quick, run after them and get directions.”
I should have known better. No man will ever ask for directions. Not even one who’s lost in a muddy cornfield with a category five hurricane ready to break overhead.
Fortunately, another couple wandered toward us. I managed to croak through my mildew-tightened voice, “Do you know how to get out?”
“Take the next two turns to the left,” they said, hurrying past. I’m sure my glazed eyes and panic-stricken expression had nothing to do with their haste.
Thunderclouds blocked the sun and the wind blew harder. Running the final distance, I leapt out of the maze. Russ and Cameron followed close behind, exultant at finishing without personally asking for directions.
“How long were we in there?” I said, gasping for breath.
Russ looked at his watch. “Ooo, a long time! All of 15 minutes.” Then he grinned, “If you’d thought to ask those two Corn Cops for directions, we’d have been out a lot sooner.”
If there’d been a corncob in my hand, I’d have chucked it at him. But I didn’t have one—and there was no way I was going back into that maize-of-doom to get one.
What books C.L. recommends:
Life is Like Riding a Unicycle by Shirley Bahlmann
Publishing Secrets by LDS Storymakers (BJ Rowley and others)
Writing for Story: Craft Secrets of Dramatic Nonfiction by Jon Franklin
Self-Editing for Fiction Writers by Rennie Browne & Dave King
View C.L.’s other work:
Newspaper Column
Photography Website
Sunday, December 02, 2007
Reeling In the Years
By Keith Fisher
I know, I know, I'm late posting this. It's Sunday and in my haste to get it written I probably messed it up. please let me know where my errors are.
I have a birthday coming up and it is one of the big milestones. You could change the spelling and say it’s a millstone . . . hanging around my neck . . . as someone drops me into the water . . . from off the pier.
All joking aside, we all have moments when we pause to assess our lives and discover, with horror, that we aren’t even close to realizing our goals. We look back on all the mistakes we’ve made, the wrong turns we took, and the missed opportunities. So we ask ourselves if we have done everything we could do in order to make our dreams come true.
However, don’t feel sorry for me, or for your self. When I begin to feel like there isn’t enough life left to fulfill my dreams, I remember what it took to get where I am and all the wonderful blessings along the way. There's a great line in a John Lennon Song, he wrote, Life is what happens, when were making other plans.
So when you stumble and fall, when you get a rejection letter and you feel you cannot type another word, think of the successes you’ve had in your life. The first time your children cleaned their room, the day they came home with a good report card, and the way God has taken care of you, especially during those lean years.
Keep writing! Never give up your keyboard until the day someone pries your cold dead fingers from off the keys. Then, when our books get published and we see someone reading it in an airport or crowded checkout line, we can remember the journey. I just hope it happens before my next birthday. Like white lines on the freeway at seventy miles per hour, they’re passing by. To quote another seventies song, Are you reeling in the years? Stowing away the time?
Good luck in your writing and watch out for over-the-hill writers. It's hard to keep from racing after you reach the summit. Try and help them slow down a bit and remember, I won't be one of them . . . I refuse . . . I'm going turn around and go back . . .
I know, I know, I'm late posting this. It's Sunday and in my haste to get it written I probably messed it up. please let me know where my errors are.
I have a birthday coming up and it is one of the big milestones. You could change the spelling and say it’s a millstone . . . hanging around my neck . . . as someone drops me into the water . . . from off the pier.
All joking aside, we all have moments when we pause to assess our lives and discover, with horror, that we aren’t even close to realizing our goals. We look back on all the mistakes we’ve made, the wrong turns we took, and the missed opportunities. So we ask ourselves if we have done everything we could do in order to make our dreams come true.
However, don’t feel sorry for me, or for your self. When I begin to feel like there isn’t enough life left to fulfill my dreams, I remember what it took to get where I am and all the wonderful blessings along the way. There's a great line in a John Lennon Song, he wrote, Life is what happens, when were making other plans.
So when you stumble and fall, when you get a rejection letter and you feel you cannot type another word, think of the successes you’ve had in your life. The first time your children cleaned their room, the day they came home with a good report card, and the way God has taken care of you, especially during those lean years.
Keep writing! Never give up your keyboard until the day someone pries your cold dead fingers from off the keys. Then, when our books get published and we see someone reading it in an airport or crowded checkout line, we can remember the journey. I just hope it happens before my next birthday. Like white lines on the freeway at seventy miles per hour, they’re passing by. To quote another seventies song, Are you reeling in the years? Stowing away the time?
Good luck in your writing and watch out for over-the-hill writers. It's hard to keep from racing after you reach the summit. Try and help them slow down a bit and remember, I won't be one of them . . . I refuse . . . I'm going turn around and go back . . .
Friday, November 30, 2007
I'm A Winner!
by G.Parker
Well, it's official. I even have a bright yellow certificate to prove it -- I'm a winner! Of course anyone can be the winner in this particular contest, and being a winner doesn't necessarily mean much to anyone else, but I still love the feeling. My son came and looked over my shoulder as I was downloading my certificate and asked what I won. I pointed to the screen and told him I'd gotten the certificate. He said "No money?"
NaNoWriMo is not about money, fame, or even competition. It's all about getting the words out of your brain and onto the paper. We don't get much for our final product in a real world sort of way, but we do get self esteem, a sense of accomplishment and a big sigh of relief from our family members. (My husband has been looking forward to this day since November 1.)
My official count for the records is 50,565 words. I hit that at 2:30 this afternoon. Last year I was typing way into the night and downloading my final count at 11:30 pm. Talk about getting it in under the wire... I'm just excited that I got it done ahead of the deadline. Thrilled that I have words left to type, story left to get out and the excitement still going. This was a banner year for me, in that I only hit a slow spot once in the whole month. Last year I was bored with it because I knew the story ahead of time, and there wasn't much excitement to it. This year involved guns, the FBI and upchucking...lol. (It helps to have children when you write, they give you so much inspiration!)
If you want to read part of the unfinished story, check out my website where I'll post a chapter of it. I had lots of fun this year, and I am already looking forward to next year -- although I'm glad to have the month of December to relax. My nerves are fried!
Well, it's official. I even have a bright yellow certificate to prove it -- I'm a winner! Of course anyone can be the winner in this particular contest, and being a winner doesn't necessarily mean much to anyone else, but I still love the feeling. My son came and looked over my shoulder as I was downloading my certificate and asked what I won. I pointed to the screen and told him I'd gotten the certificate. He said "No money?"
NaNoWriMo is not about money, fame, or even competition. It's all about getting the words out of your brain and onto the paper. We don't get much for our final product in a real world sort of way, but we do get self esteem, a sense of accomplishment and a big sigh of relief from our family members. (My husband has been looking forward to this day since November 1.)
My official count for the records is 50,565 words. I hit that at 2:30 this afternoon. Last year I was typing way into the night and downloading my final count at 11:30 pm. Talk about getting it in under the wire... I'm just excited that I got it done ahead of the deadline. Thrilled that I have words left to type, story left to get out and the excitement still going. This was a banner year for me, in that I only hit a slow spot once in the whole month. Last year I was bored with it because I knew the story ahead of time, and there wasn't much excitement to it. This year involved guns, the FBI and upchucking...lol. (It helps to have children when you write, they give you so much inspiration!)
If you want to read part of the unfinished story, check out my website where I'll post a chapter of it. I had lots of fun this year, and I am already looking forward to next year -- although I'm glad to have the month of December to relax. My nerves are fried!
Thursday, November 29, 2007
A Simple Thing
By Nichole Giles
Retailers call it Black Friday. Walmart employees call it Blitz. Husbands have been known to refer to it as doomsday, knowing that by three AM their quiet, usually docile wives will turn into efficient shopping machines who will fight with elbows and fists—and sometimes merchandise—for the ten dollar Cabbage Patch Dolls and the five dollar DVD’s. The rest of the human world knows it as the day after Thanksgiving.
It’s crazy. We spend Thanksgiving Day feasting, visiting family members, and remembering all the many things for which we should be thankful. But as soon as the pie is cut, a lot of people scour the newspaper ads for bargains, map out the most efficient route from store to store, and count their pennies to know exactly how important it is for them to acquire that specific item for that specific blowout price.
The problem is, everyone willing to brave the crowds on this the blackest of days, has a good reason for being where they are. I seriously doubt the people camping out at Walmart at 2:30 AM are guarding their spot by the specialty skateboards because they have an abundance of money. On the contrary, these are the people for whom the special deals matter so much that they are willing to forego sleep in order to fight to afford a special gift to put under the tree for their child.
Fight they will, and fight they do.
Sadly, there are many retailers who look forward to such fights. They dare to advertise a product at a specific price but only supply the crowd they’ve drawn with a handful of that item. When this happens (and it happens frequently) shoppers are often encouraged to “find a way in” and grab an item out of the arms of someone else. Ethics are thrown out the window as people who are usually polite resort to stealing things out of the shopping carts of others and throwing merchandise over the bobbing heads of a crowd.
Can you tell I’ve been there and done that? In the process I’ve seen a lot of things. Young people trampled, children being crushed as a crowd rushes a finally open door, men fighting with fists over $5 Barbie cars…. The chaos is almost enough to ruin Christmas entirely. What are the words to the song?
“And in despair I bowed my head
There is no peace on earth I said
For hate is strong and mocks the song
Of peace on Earth, good will to men.”
Last Friday, I waited my turn, shaking my head in sadness and thinking, “Look what the world has done to this holiday. We’ve ruined Christmas.” But then I noticed something else, something I hadn’t noticed before.
As they stood waiting, people were chatting with each other, discussing the children who would receive the gifts. Some were actually even friendly. And when the time for grabbing came, some people (not all, that would be too much to hope for) were polite enough to ‘grab’ an item for the strangers with whom they’d spent the last few hours waiting.
It’s just a simple thing, and yet those small acts of kindness were enough to redeem mankind and help me find a little bit of the Christmas spirit I thought I’d lost. That spirit put a smile in my mood and left me hoping that sometime this season I might be able to do something nice for someone else.
After all, it is in the small and simple things that we find our greatest joy.
Retailers call it Black Friday. Walmart employees call it Blitz. Husbands have been known to refer to it as doomsday, knowing that by three AM their quiet, usually docile wives will turn into efficient shopping machines who will fight with elbows and fists—and sometimes merchandise—for the ten dollar Cabbage Patch Dolls and the five dollar DVD’s. The rest of the human world knows it as the day after Thanksgiving.
It’s crazy. We spend Thanksgiving Day feasting, visiting family members, and remembering all the many things for which we should be thankful. But as soon as the pie is cut, a lot of people scour the newspaper ads for bargains, map out the most efficient route from store to store, and count their pennies to know exactly how important it is for them to acquire that specific item for that specific blowout price.
The problem is, everyone willing to brave the crowds on this the blackest of days, has a good reason for being where they are. I seriously doubt the people camping out at Walmart at 2:30 AM are guarding their spot by the specialty skateboards because they have an abundance of money. On the contrary, these are the people for whom the special deals matter so much that they are willing to forego sleep in order to fight to afford a special gift to put under the tree for their child.
Fight they will, and fight they do.
Sadly, there are many retailers who look forward to such fights. They dare to advertise a product at a specific price but only supply the crowd they’ve drawn with a handful of that item. When this happens (and it happens frequently) shoppers are often encouraged to “find a way in” and grab an item out of the arms of someone else. Ethics are thrown out the window as people who are usually polite resort to stealing things out of the shopping carts of others and throwing merchandise over the bobbing heads of a crowd.
Can you tell I’ve been there and done that? In the process I’ve seen a lot of things. Young people trampled, children being crushed as a crowd rushes a finally open door, men fighting with fists over $5 Barbie cars…. The chaos is almost enough to ruin Christmas entirely. What are the words to the song?
“And in despair I bowed my head
There is no peace on earth I said
For hate is strong and mocks the song
Of peace on Earth, good will to men.”
Last Friday, I waited my turn, shaking my head in sadness and thinking, “Look what the world has done to this holiday. We’ve ruined Christmas.” But then I noticed something else, something I hadn’t noticed before.
As they stood waiting, people were chatting with each other, discussing the children who would receive the gifts. Some were actually even friendly. And when the time for grabbing came, some people (not all, that would be too much to hope for) were polite enough to ‘grab’ an item for the strangers with whom they’d spent the last few hours waiting.
It’s just a simple thing, and yet those small acts of kindness were enough to redeem mankind and help me find a little bit of the Christmas spirit I thought I’d lost. That spirit put a smile in my mood and left me hoping that sometime this season I might be able to do something nice for someone else.
After all, it is in the small and simple things that we find our greatest joy.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Take One Step At A Time
By Connie S. Hall
I recently attended the Association for Mormon Letters Writer’s Conference. Dave Wolverton (Farland) was the keynote speaker and his topic was, “A Leap into the Void”.
Dave reminded us that we all have something important to write, and it becomes easier when we write about something dear to us.
He spoke about writing with courage. His talk made me realize that sometimes I do fear having someone read what I have written. It’s easy to enter a contest because they don’t know who I am. I was encouraged as he reminded us that we develop our courage as a writer a little bit at a time.
His best advice was that we should not worry about what people think of our writing. If we are afraid of what we are doing, we are going to find it difficult to write. Nothing will destroy our writing as much as fear.
I guess I’m supposed to say that I will write with courage and not be afraid. Wouldn’t it be nice if it were that easy? However, I can take it one-step at a time, and I’m sure you can too.
I recently attended the Association for Mormon Letters Writer’s Conference. Dave Wolverton (Farland) was the keynote speaker and his topic was, “A Leap into the Void”.
Dave reminded us that we all have something important to write, and it becomes easier when we write about something dear to us.
He spoke about writing with courage. His talk made me realize that sometimes I do fear having someone read what I have written. It’s easy to enter a contest because they don’t know who I am. I was encouraged as he reminded us that we develop our courage as a writer a little bit at a time.
His best advice was that we should not worry about what people think of our writing. If we are afraid of what we are doing, we are going to find it difficult to write. Nothing will destroy our writing as much as fear.
I guess I’m supposed to say that I will write with courage and not be afraid. Wouldn’t it be nice if it were that easy? However, I can take it one-step at a time, and I’m sure you can too.
Monday, November 26, 2007
Stuffing the Turkey
By C.L. Beck
© 2007
I ate and ate until I thought
My buttons all would pop.
I gobbled up the turkey
Not considering when to stop.
I scarfed down mashed potatoes,
With gravy, yams and rolls,
And wondered why, when I looked down,
I couldn’t see my toes.
I polished off the stuffing
And a cranberry or two,
Then noticed that my stomach felt
Like it had caught the flu.
It seemed like maybe time to quit
Before I up and died—
But that was just before someone
Brought out the pumpkin pies.
© 2007
I ate and ate until I thought
My buttons all would pop.
I gobbled up the turkey
Not considering when to stop.
I scarfed down mashed potatoes,
With gravy, yams and rolls,
And wondered why, when I looked down,
I couldn’t see my toes.
I polished off the stuffing
And a cranberry or two,
Then noticed that my stomach felt
Like it had caught the flu.
It seemed like maybe time to quit
Before I up and died—
But that was just before someone
Brought out the pumpkin pies.
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