Thursday's Children 6/20/13

A weekly blog hop

where writers share their inspirations.

Please join us!

I'm having a tough time finding inspiration ... it's been a bad week.

It all started last Friday afternoon when I went to Wal-mart to pick up a Father's Day present for my husband, and some things for a beach getaway with extended family. 

I left the store with $300 worth of stuff in my grocery cart. Then stopped just outside the main entrance to give a dollar to some kids raising money for some athletic group.

It was a beautiful sunny afternoon --about 5:30. We hadn't had a day like this in a while. Besides some fibromyalgia pain, I was feeling pretty good. The parking lot wasn't crazy. I'd remembered where I had parked the car, because it was one of the first parking spaces. Score!

Then ... I got hit by a pickup truck.

That sucks. A LOT.

I heard him hit the gas and saw him cut the corner. Unfortunately, I also saw that he was looking the other way, trying to beat another car coming from a different direction. With split seconds to think, and only a matter of feet until impact, it's really hard to know what to do.

I decided it might be better if he hit the cart first. I was told by the Wal-mart manager (who has reviewed the security footage of the accident) that I probably did the right thing. The grocery cart took the brunt of the initial impact. The manager also said the cart was "done for."

The good news is, nothing seems to be broken. They x-rayed my lower back/pelvis, right ankle and right forearm, and did a CT scan of my head and neck. I'm still in a lot of pain, mostly my back and right hip.

It's all been downhill since the accident.

Beach getaway was a bust, leaving that extension of my family broken. I ended up staying in a crappy motel for a couple of nights, and coming home early. The weather was gray and rainy most of the time as well.

Then I found out last night that my father, who lives in Calgary, is going to lose EVERYTHING from massive flooding.


I've always believed that bad things come in threes. So guess what? I'm done.

But wait ...

I always try to see the positive side of things.

So, I'm going to remember ...

I did have a good time with the people I was with in the small motel room.

I did get to see some sights and experience some places that I wouldn't have if everything had gone according to plan. We ended up in Wildwood, NJ.

Wildwood did inspire a story idea. (Which reminds me, I better write that down.)

And, I could have been laid up in the hospital with serious injuries.

Or worse ...

At least I'm not that horseshoe crab.

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Thursday's Children 5/30/13

Inspired by animals ...

A weekly blog hop

where writers share their inspirations.

Please join us!

I love animals. All animals. They have an innocent quality about them. Well, except cats. Cats are rarely innocent. But I love them anyway.

We've had a cat for 16 years. Her name is Mouse. She's not pictured here. Click here to see her and the poem she inspired. I must confess, my real love for cats didn't happen until 2 years ago. This isn't a secret, Mouse knows why.

So, what happened 2 years ago?

I met this little girl. We adopted her from a shelter. Her name is Dr. Penelope Puddles, MD. She specializes in ear, nose and throat. We call her Penny for short.

But her full name is on the records at the vet. I love getting the post card reminder. "Dr. Penelope Puddles, MD is due for her rabies shot."

A month after adopting Penny, we had to stop in at the shelter to prepay for her spay appointment.

That's when this little guy, Jeffrey, ambushed us. That's right. Ambushed. My daughters and I were standing at the front counter, and all of a sudden this little guy is climbing up my leg. Some of the older cats are allowed to wander the shelter, but not the kittens. They are kept separate.
Anyway, I pick him up and say, "Where'd you come from?"
The lady behind the counter was surprised. She had no idea how he got out. She scooped him up and put him back in his enclosure.
About a minute later he was back at my feet, meowing with the tiniest, squeakiest, cutest meow I've ever heard.



A couple of months later our area suffered massive floods and devastation. Many animals were among the displaced.
This little girl. Wanda, was found under a car in a parking lot, barely three weeks old. She was listless when we brought her home. We immediately got formula in her mouth using a syringe, and were relieved when she started perking up.
Over the next few days my daughters and I found three more cats and kittens. We nursed them all back to health and found each of them homes. 

Here are Jeffrey and Wanda, now.

They are so much fun.

We've rescued a lot of animals over the years.

This is a red eared slider that was bought on the streets of NYC, by a teacher in my daughter's school. The teacher (whom was not my daughter's) bought two for her classroom. They were about an inch and a half at the time. If you're not aware, it is illegal to sell them under 4 inches long. And the streets of NYC is NO PLACE TO BUY A TURTLE. I'm not going to rant. *unclenches fists* 

Big surprise, within a day one turtle was dead and the other was not doing well. I picked my daughter up from school that day. She was sobbing when she got in the car. She told me about the turtle situation. So, I marched up to the classroom, and demanded the turtle. "I'll give you twenty bucks for the turtle." It got slightly complicated and ugly. But I got the turtle. We had him for about three years, until he was of legal and safe size, and found him a nice home. By the way, in those three years he had two ear infections. Did you know they had ears? Did you know they could get ear infections? lol. I didn't. And surgery is the only way to treat them. Yes, surgery. Twice.    

This is a mud turtle that someone found IN THE WILD while visiting Georgia, and decided it was a good idea to bring home as a pet. They had him in a plastic container. He's a cute little guy, however he is trying to bite me in this picture. lol.

For about a year we were involved with Mainley Rat Rescue, fostering rescued rats until they found a home.
Rats are very sweet, and make good pets.

We adopted two greyhounds through Monica's Heart greyhound rescue. They are the BEST.

Davinci and Newton

Not all of the animals we've had were rescues.
For instance, the button quail that my oldest daughter decided to hatch herself. lol.

What's cuter than a tiny button quail?

Five tiny button quail

in your hand.

I love tiny things.

Like this toad that

we got as a tadpole.

And this crested gecko

eating from a spoon.

I even surprised myself by falling in love with this sand boa. Never thought I would like a snake.

Chinchillas! Ohmigosh, I love my chinchillas!

Janice Tripplehorn

Helen Merriweather

We have three saltwater tanks. It's surprising how relaxing it can be just watching the fish and other critters in there.

The reef tank is probably my favorite.

Here I am with a fennec fox, a prairie dog, and a coatimundi. Oh boy, did I want to take each of them home! :(

                   

There's no better way to relieve stress than spending time with a beloved pet. 
Do your pets, or animals, inspire you?

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Inspired by cyber friends & second chances ...

A weekly blog hop where

writers share their inspirations.

Please join us!

I have been querying my young adult novel for a while now – longer than I care to admit. With no requests.

Was my query the problem? I continually reworked it.

Was it my first pages? I revised.

I was just about to the point of giving up. But I really didn’t want to. I love this 

story. I have faith in this story.

Then one day, a fair-skinned angel reached out to me. 

She said…

Don't give up the trudging!! And consider joining our Thursday's Children blog hop-trudging is more fun in a group :D

My angel goes by @RhiannWynnNolet

I know I’ve said this before, but, I am so grateful for Thursday’s Children. Since I tend to be reserved online, I find it hard sometimes to connect with people via social media. However, with the TC members, I immediately felt part of the group. I started connecting. And even bigger, I started trusting.

I’d seen people talk about the importance of beta readers and crit partners. But, having someone (or a group) that’s local isn’t always easy. I’ve tried a couple of groups in my area, but they didn’t work out for various reasons.

So, back to the trusting … I just couldn’t wrap my head around the idea of sending my manuscript off to someone I didn’t know. Well, I recently sent it off to Rhiann and Louise Gornall – my first betas!

I was so nervous.

What if they hate it?

What if they realize I can’t write worth a damn?

What if?

What if?

What if?

But then I got notes back. Like, a lot of notes. The betas turned into critiques, 

and their notes were awesome. I immediately started seeing the patterns.

WHY? Banging my head on the keyboard. WHY DIDN’T I SEE THAT BEFORE?!

Yes. I know the rule. I’ve heard it so many times. Show, don’t tell. Also known as “showing vs telling.” Well, I was doing some sort of crazy stupid-ass mixed up version of “telling the showing.”

I’ve also been told to remove the ! key from my keyboard. Lol.

Anyway, I feel like my ms has been given a second chance. I’m super excited about the revisions. And I’m having a little too much fun cutting. Picture me doing an evil laugh while holding down the delete button. Die! Die! Die! This could also explain my enthusiasm over the weekend when my husband and I took the chainsaw to 12 overgrown bushes and 2 trees. Bwah ah ah! Die! Die! Die!

Sorry, I got a little carried away there. :)

On a happy note, after a couple of very busy weeks, I’m back at the computer. And the weather is finally looking up, so I’m able to sit in my favorite place to write. I just took this picture while writing this post.

Life is good!

So, in the hopes of being published, have you ever thought about who you'd like to thank in the acknowledgements?

I have.

Thank you Rhiann and Louise!!!!!!! (look at all those exclamation points. lol)

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Thursday's Children 4/12/13

I've probably mentioned before that I love old buildings and houses. Well, the same goes for old photos. A glimpse into the past.

I found this week's inspiration in an old photo album.

This picture makes me smile. It's my father with his older sister. The collie's name is Melon. Get it? Melon collie. How cute is this? 

The date on the next photo is 1910. I believe the baby is my father's father, Harold. I think it's so weird how people never smiled for pictures back then. I've studied this picture so many times, especially the mother. I wonder if she was happy?

I believe it is the same woman in the next three pictures. If it is, her name is Hazel. She would be my great-grandmother. The baby would be my father's mother, Rhilda, born in 1920. Look at that hat, and the way she is dressed. I want to know more about her. 

 

          

I'm not sure who this last couple is. I love how they are dressed.

When I look at these pictures, I wonder so many things. I wonder where the picture was taken. If it was at home, what was there home like? If not, how did they get there? Did they have a car? I wonder about their daily lives. If they were happy? In love?

Do you find inspiration in old photos?

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A long time coming ...

A weekly blog hop

where writers come together

to talk about whatever inspires them.

Do you remember when Skylab 4 fell to earth?

Probably not.

But I do.

In fact, I will never forget. 

It was July 11, 1979. I was eleven years old.

Everyone was talking about it in the days leading up, wondering when and where it would land. It was expected to land in the ocean, 800 miles southeast of Cape Town, South Africa. However, it landed near Esperance, Australia – without incidence.

So you may wonder why this event has stuck with me after all these years?

Religion.

Religion is a topic that can be controversial and even taboo. And it is a topic that is very difficult for me to discuss. Do you know what religiophobia is? It is the fear of religion. Very few people know of my fear, including family outside my immediate family members. I am sharing this story for a couple of reasons: I thought it would be therapeutic, and I hope it’ll help others to understand the reasons behind my fear.

Here is my story. My truth. How I remember it.

I was a good kid, polite and respectful. My parents had been raising us Catholic. We were not religious, by any means. We went to church a couple times a month, but I never really understood any of it. Honestly, I kind of tuned it all out.

I had a neighborhood friend that I played outside with once in a while. She was a year or two older. She didn't go to my school. She went to a Baptist school. 

On July 10, 1979, it was a Tuesday, she invited me to spend the night. I had never been in her house before. It was very small, with curtains drawn, and only a couple of table lamps casting shadows on the living room. There were five of us in the room. The father and older sister were sitting on the couch. My friend and I, on the floor. The mother was puttering around the room. I wanted to play a game or watch TV. But they had other plans.

The TV was off. There were no distractions.

“Jesus is coming,” the mother said.

I stared up at her and said nothing. I didn’t know how to respond to that.

“Jesus is coming tonight,” the father added with excitement. 

I looked to my friend and gestured to her that I wanted to go to her room and do something else. My friend didn't move.

Her parents continued, taking turns questioning … preaching … pressuring. 

“The Skylab is just a ruse. Jesus is coming to save us, because the world is ending. You want to be saved don’t you?”

Awkwardness turned to fear.

“Have you welcomed Jesus into your heart?”

I didn’t know what that meant.

“You must have welcomed Jesus into your heart?”

I shrugged, timidly.

“You want to go with Jesus don’t you?”

“No, I want to be with my mom,” I answered in a whisper.

“Well she must’ve welcomed Jesus into her heart.” The mother held an open Bible in front of me, pointing to lines on a page. “It’s right here. You must do it!”

“Say the words! Or Jesus won’t take you with him!” the father insisted. 

“What if I don’t?” I asked, my voice shaking. They were hovering around me. I felt trapped.

“You’ll be the only one here in the morning. We are all going with him tonight.”

“But … what about my mom? My family?” I asked tears welling in my eyes.

“She would want you to be saved – to go with us tonight. Say it with me now,” her finger moved across the page while she read a passage from the Bible.

They talked about the dead rising from the grave to meet Jesus in the sky, and the living to be raptured. They talked about tribulation, and the second coming. They spoke of millenniums – 1,000 years being equal to a day in Christ’s reign. And at the end of the second day, time will cease and believers will go to heaven. They said this could be my only chance to be saved before the end of the millennium – the year 2000.

I looked at the clock on the wall. It was almost 11 pm. This had been going on for hours. I was tired and scared. Finally, I jumped up from the floor, pushed passed the parents and flew out the front door.

I ran home in the dark, sobbing, afraid that I would be too late – that everyone would be gone. That my mom would be gone.

It was a long time before I could sleep alone, without a firm grip on my mom.

But the affect these people had on me that night will NEVER go away.

At first I blamed them. That family. Their interpretation of the Bible. Their use of scare tactics, especially on a child separated from family. But then I saw that it wasn't just their interpretation, but a whole religion. I was young, I didn't understand that there were all these different religions with different beliefs.

Add to that, countless wars and killings all over the world, all in the name of religion? It just doesn't make sense to me. I'm not saying that I don't believe there is a god. Honestly, I don't know what I believe. I just feel like organized religion can be a scary thing. It endorses herd mentality. Then the herds clash. 

Who's to say one herd is better or right?

Why can't we just live life with morals? Be kind to one another. 

Everyone wants to be happy, healthy, loved. We want to live, not just survive. 

This is the most I've ever shared. I don't want to be controversial or confrontational. That is not me. I am not judging anyone for their beliefs, and I hope that I have not alienated anyone.

Sincerely,

Michaele

Thursday's Children 3/28/13

A weekly blog hop

where writers come together

to talk about whatever inspires them.

A few days ago I was going through old files and came across a red folder.

Its contents are horrifying. HORRIFYING, I TELL YOU!!

12th grade Creative Writing class papers!

Wow. Just. Wow.

Side bar: How many of you are

zooming in to try and

make out the date? lol

I apologize to Mrs. Royer for having to read that crap. She was very nice and encouraging –one of my favorite teachers.

My writing was pretty minimalistic, not a lot of description or detail. Reading it now, I think, it reads like a kid trying to tell someone a story, but they’re too excited to take a breath. In fact, Mrs. Royer marked run-on’s as my biggest problem. One five page story had 11 of them.  

That story is titled, The Frightening Experience of Chantel DuBois. Yes, I was also taking French. The story is about a woman who witnesses a murder. She believes the murderer got a good look at her and that her life is now in danger. I was going for edge-of-your-seat suspense.

But then, right in the middle of said suspense there is a quite jarring sentence.
Here is a snippet. See if you can find it.

The next morning when she woke up she remembered everything vividly, and hoped it was only a dream.
As she was eating her breakfast there was a knock at the door. "Who is it?" she asked in a shaky voice.
A man replied, "Delivery."
I guess she figured if it was the murderer he would have answered, "The murderer--"
So, she opened the door, and it was the man she saw in the alley. He raised the knife high above his head and came towards her. 

Did you find it? 

The only explanation I have is that I was a big fan of Saturday Night Live, and an all time favorite sketch was Landshark.

If you're too young, and not familiar with Landshark. Click here to watch a clip.

Another story in the folder was about guilt eating away at a boy, until he did the right thing. Hmm, wonder where that came from? A personal demon maybe?

There was also one called, The Last Friday. It's along the lines of an end of the world story, featuring a family running for shelter. I know what spawned this idea.

As a child I was constantly worried about the world ending, or losing all my family and friends. This was a result of a traumatic incident at age 11, that has left me, to this day, with an incredible fear of religion.

I have toyed with the idea of writing a post about what happened. Maybe it would be therapeutic? Maybe it would help others to understand my fear? And just maybe, somehow, the culprits could stumble upon the post and realize how it felt through my eyes?

So ... anyway ... I did find inspiration in these old stories. How about you? Have you ever written about a traumatic experience? Did it help?

One more thing, because I can't end this post sounding like a Debbie Downer.

Here is the opening line from another paper in the folder:

Have you ever had the delightful experience of eating hot chicken wings?

Do with it what you will. lol.

Thursday's Children 3/14/13

A weekly blog hop

where writers come together

to talk about whatever inspires them.

The last several weeks I have enjoyed reading EM Castellan's "Project Reveal." I found it inspiring in getting re-inspired in my currently neglected WIP and decided to share my original inspiration for writing this story. Hahaha! Yes. I find myself amusing.

Well before I finished writing my first book, I started getting these various scenes stuck in my head. I would write them down and put them aside. I've always been fascinated with ghost stories, so I wasn't surprised when that was the recurring theme. My ghost had a name, Molly Weeds. I even know how she died and who killed her.

Molly Weeds

The title for this book came early for me. It may change, but for now...

Killing Weeds

I live near Ithaca, New York, and the gorges and old buildings are the perfect setting for a ghost story.

   

However, my ghost is not the main character of my story. I'm writing this in first person from the POV of Veronica "Ronnie." My first book was written in third, so this is new for me. Btw, I write YA.

Ronnie

The first time I met Ronnie was in a scene that I had in my head when I woke up one morning. It was very visual, and I'm not sure where it really came from. I felt a lot of emotion coming from her when I wrote it. And I feel strongly that it remains the first chapter. It's only 172 words, but I think it sets the tone that I'm looking for with this book -- which is completely different from my first.

I kind of want to share it.

Would you like to see it?

Nah, I shouldn't...

Ok. If you insist.

The pewter cup sat in the stone cubby, looking like a trophy. Like a reminder of a proud moment in your life, when you were the best at something. I couldn’t look at it. I didn’t feel proud. I felt sad and empty. I imagined myself whipping it out of there and rubbing its side like a magic lamp, resulting in a hail of smoke that would bring my mother back. But I knew better. She wouldn’t be coming back.

The pastor said his final ceremonial words, and then turned to my father. “You’re welcome to stay while the vault is sealed.”

I can’t seem to wrap my head around the fact that my mother has been reduced to ash, and now sits in that pewter cup. Or what’d he call it … an urn? I can’t watch them lock her in there. I turned to my father. “Can I go now?”

“Yeah,” he answered, not looking at me.

That was the beginning of endless months of him not looking at me. That was the beginning of my downward spiral.

I'd love to hear what you think.

PS - I just joined Pinterest. That's where I got the pictures and started putting together an inspiration board.