My Shadow, Love, and First Publication Rights

First off, sorry about the late post. The sub-zero temperatures iced over our ISP's satellite tower and the world almost ended from lack of Internet. I couldn't even check my e-mail. Shudder.

Well, on to the post.

It's that time again. You know, parent teacher conference time. I took Kid D last night. It turned out well, and once again the first grade wrote stories. Last time I had buy the first publication rights to get Kid D to let me post one of her stories on my blog. This time she was ready for me. It went like this.

Me: You did awesome!

Kid D grinning.

Me: Can I put a story on my blog?

Kid D: Sure. How much are you going to pay me?

Me grinning, too: Two dollars for two stories.

Kid D: Deal.

I laughed and paid her. I think she's liking this write and get paid thing. Who can blame her? I'd really like to try it some day soon.

So, here are her two stories with translations attached. Enjoy.

My Shadow





Translation:

I am jumping on the trampoline with my shadow in the sun. It is fun. If the sun is up very high, your shadow is low.

And the second masterpiece:

Love





Translation:

I love to eat ice cream. I love Mrs. Tingey!!! I love school. I love me!!! I love my mom!!! I love my dad!!!

I love this story. Who wouldn't? Ice cream--yum. A beloved teacher--awesome. Love for Mom and Dad--bonus. But love for herself--ahhh a mother's dream come true. I'm so glad she let me buy these.

I'm off to write. I have big shoes to fill. Who knew I'd be trying to keep up with a first-grader. :)

Leisha Maw

The Magic of Birthdays and Books

First off, I have a post at The Scribblers Cove today, too. Check it out.

Second off, (okay this should probably be first, but it looked better on the page this way) today is Kid D's Seventh Birthday. She woke up expecting magic. You could feel the anticipation in the air, see it in her missing-the-two-front-teeth grin, and taste it in the cake-and-frosting-rich air.

I asked her if she felt older, and she told me,"Yes! My legs are even longer. You can tell, see? My pajamas don't touch my feet like they did last night."

I smiled and smothered a laugh. You don't laugh at seven-year-olds on their birthdays, even if they are amusing.

Kid D's excitement made me think about books and writing. Don't act all surprised. Most things make me think of writing and books because that's how I roll.

Anywho, every time I pick up a book, I'm like Kid D. I expect magic. Not necessarily real magic with spells and wands and elves and such (though that doesn't hurt), but the magic and wonder of fantastic stories and amazing characters. I want to be transported to a new place, time, and setting. I want to feel like I'm seven and grew during the night only to wake up to balloons and cake. All of it for me.

I want to feel the emotions of characters. I want to experience fear, longing, love, adrenaline spikes, and warm fuzzies. I want to live between the covers with the characters.

I want the magic of a book.

What about you? What do you want when you open a book?

Leisha Maw

Top Ten Things I Love About Writing

Sorry for the late post today. Kid D is sick and that slows everything down.

Anywho, if you haven't entered my contest for a fabulous Barnes and Nobel gift card and other almost fabulous prizes click here and follow the directions. :)

Sometimes I wonder to myself about why I write. It goes something like this:

Me: Why do I do this?

Other me: Because you are a crazy person.

Me: Well, yeah, but other than that.

Other me: Ummmm. You like pain?

Me: No. That can't be it. Try again. There must be a reason.

Other me: You sinned in a past life and must pay for eternity?

Me: What? Are you sure you're not the crazy person?

Other me: Whatever. You like this, and you know it.

Me sighing then grinning: It's true. Maybe I do like pain.

So, here is my top ten things I like about writing list.

1: I can do it in my pjs.

2: I can eat lots of snacks and say I"m feeding my brain. Yum.

3: People look at you like you are a crazy person. This is quite fun. You should try it sometime.

4: You get to be lots of different people every day. Who would want to be just one? Sheesh.

5: You get to live in cool new places in your mind--all while dressed in pjs and eating snacks at home.

6: Words are delicious.

7: So are stories.

8: Creating is magical, and we all need a little magic in our lives.

9: It makes me happy. :)

10: What could be better than getting paid to daydream?

There you have it. Why do you write, or paint, or create music, or whatever it is you do to enrich your life? What spurs you on in your quest for success?

The Corn Maze

Last night I took Kid D to parent teacher conference. She sat and giggled as her teacher praised her and her work. They've been writing stories, cute little first grade stories. The three of us, Kid D, the teacher and I, spent a few minutes reading them. I smiled and hugged her a lot. Kid D, not the teacher. That would have been a bit awkward.

Anywho, I asked Kid D if I could share one of her stories on my blog. She turned me down flat. I begged, I cajoled, I gave her puppy dog eyes. Nada. Her decision was firm.

I sat and pondered her cute little face and asked,"Why not?"

She said, "I'm embarrassed."

I told her I wouldn't use her name.

She shook her head, still firm.

I was stumped. After all, intellectual property is serious business, and she owned it. I complained to my hubby that his daughter wouldn't grant me usage. He urged her to let me post it. Nada. Zip. Zilch.

I told Kid D that I wanted people to read my stories. Heck, I wanted people to pay me for my stories.

A small smile tickled the corners of her mouth, and a glint appeared in her eye as she said, "No one pays me for my stories."

You guessed it, I bought her story. She's walking around the house two bucks richer, and I have the goods.

Here it is complete with illustrations. The light pencil scrawl is hard to read, so I'll provide a typed translation. (Without the 1st grade spelling. )

The corn maze was tricky! In one path there was a dead woman! There were scary decorations! The corn maze was scary!

Don't you love the dead woman in the box? And, yes, I asked about that. There really was a "dead" woman at the corn maze they went to for the class Halloween field trip. Personally I'm relieved because that means I don't need to get her counseling.

I'm also proud as a bag full of onion rings over my youngest's first published story. I can see great things ahead for this budding writer. Can't you?

Apples and Creativity

Sorry about the Friday post, I spent yesterday at my parents' house picking apples, stacking wood, and winterizing their enormous raspberry patch. It was glorious, but as I worked, thoughts of winter whispered in my mind. Nothing speaks of long, frozen months like climbing into the frosted branches of an apple tree or wading through six-foot tall raspberries to tie them up like old-fashioned haystacks.



Time has trained my mind to turn from summer and warmth and reckless play to winter and snow and the holidays by repeating these fall rituals. The air can turn chill and the leaves can blaze with color on the mountains, but it isn't really autumn to me until the apples ripen and I disappear into the tree tops.

As I worked yesterday, my mind slipped back to my childhood and then to my books. I pondered how, just like time has trained me to prepare for winter by repeating the same activities every fall, I've trained myself to prepare to write by sitting in my chair every day armed with my laptop and imagination. My brain is geared to string words together in that chair, just like it's geared to think winter every time I pick apples or split and stack wood.

I've programed my mind and creativity so show up and engage by showing up myself. And the best part about this is, I never knew I was doing it. I don't know if you can have a habit of creating, but I think, just maybe, you can.

Inspiration, Brushing Your Teeth, and Spit

I sat down at the computer to blog this morning, and this is what I thought: Ummmm.

I'm ashamed to say that it continued for quite some time. I typed three different blog posts and deleted them all. Why? Because they were lame. Very Lame. Lame with a capital L. You are most welcome for erasing them and sparing you the pain.

My three failed posts got me thinking about inspiration. I needed some. So, I called my sister and asked her to give me a writing prompt. She paused, and all I could hear was a swish-brush-mumble kind of sound.

Again, for the second time, I said, "Ummmm?"

She said, "Brushing your teeth."

I silently said, "Say what?"

She rinsed and expectorated. And I had it. The answer to inspiration.

Spittle.

Yup, you heard me.

I thanked her and hung up the phone. I didn't blog about that. Yet. I went and brushed my teeth, cleaned my tub, took a hot bath, and thought about spit and writing. A funny thing happened. All the ummmm left me, and my mind opened up. Ideas started flowing for my novel. I even had an ah ha moment. Pretty cool stuff.

Why? Because I stepped away for a short time and let my mind relax and ponder spittle while my body cleaned the tub. Sometimes we need to let the creative process simmer, or in this case lather, before we set it down in hard words. Every story needs to be created in the mind before it goes in print. I'll remember this the next time I have an ummmm moment, but for now, I'm off to put my new thoughts into my novel.

So, I owe my sis a thank you for getting me to think about spit. I now have a clean tub, clean teeth, and clean ideas for my novel. Oh,and a blog post dedicated to spit.

What gives you inspiration?

Romance, Young Love, and Books

I'm thinking romance. The early stages that is. You know, the first loaded looks that hint at simmering feelings, the shy almost burning first touches when fingers meet fingers, and the heady, soaring emotions that wipe away fear. Young love.

Why am I thinking this? Well, it's not because I'm young, that's for sure. My hubby and I are celebrating our eighteenth anniversary tomorrow. See, so not young. Yikes. But I was young once. And I have a good memory.

And, I'm working on a romance scene in my WIP. It's challenging and fun. Struggling to find a way to express those first racing moments without sounding cliche and cheesy is frustrating. I delete more than I leave, and find myself turning to other books (and movies) for insight.

Here is a delicious example from Carol Lynch William's The Chosen One:

"But. Here is another secret. Another sin. Because I am not allowed to be with Joshua. I am not allowed to feel this way. Tingly when he looks at me. Weak when his hand is near mine. And the worst part--I couldn't help but wonder how it would be to kiss him.

And when we did kiss, it was all my fault.

Emily in the corner with her baby doll.

Me, in the Fellowship Hall with Joshua.

On the piano bench.

Smelling the soap he uses.

Watching his hands.

Hardly thinking of music.

...I glanced in his direction and saw him looking at me. Not at the piano keys.

"Put your hand like this," I told him. "You have to look here." I tapped the keyboard.

He let me move his fingers to the right position. So warm, those fingers.

"The C and E and G," I said.

But Joshua's hand didn't stay where I put it. Instead his fingers tangled up with mine. The whole side of his body leaned into me. His other arm slid around my waist.

"You can't play the piano holding my hand. Or leaning crooked like that, either," I said, my voice breathy. The words almost didn't come out of my mouth. But I thought, I could kiss you right now and go to hell and it would be worth it. Worth it.

...And then I kissed him. Just fell into him right in the middle of a sentence. Pressed my lips to his. So soft. Then he was kissing me back. And I didn't even know how to kiss, had never kissed anyone in my life but my family, and then only little pecks on the cheek.

It felt like Joshua sucked the breath from me, there on the piano bench, with all the thoughts of sin going through my head, but me not caring at all. Not at all.

"I better go," I said, when I finally pushed away from him. My hands trembled. My knees shook.

And he said, "Don't be scared, Kyra. I'm right here."

Isn't that scrumptious?

What is your favorite first love scene? Me? I'm off to create my own.

Gearing Up For Battle

I’ve taken a couple of weeks off from my WIP to critique a few novels for some writer friends. It was a great experience, but now it’s back into the fray with my own, and yes, it is the fray. This is war. Me against the wrong words. My wrong words. It may get bloody.

I find myself gearing up to face this rewrite. I’ve had too long of a break, and my muse is silent, hibernating somewhere in the back of my mind. What tools will I need to wake her? What tools will I need to win this battle?

I need to be armed, and like a true word warrior it will be with things like creativity, passion, conflict, plot arcs, and guts. If you don’t think writing takes guts, you try opening the door into you innermost thoughts and smearing the contents onto a clean white page for all the world to see. It’s freaking scary.

I’ll also need patience and food. Yes, food. I eat when I write, which might explain that pesky ten pounds that glued itself to portions of my anatomy over the summer. Sigh.

So, bring on the words! Let the typing begin! I will not go down without a fight, or without an increased word count. What weapons are in your writing arsenal? What snacks wake up your muse? Spill, cause I need her awake and kicking.

Surpise! An unexpected extra post: Learning to Draw

I've spent my entire life in awe of artists. There is something magical about taking a blank page, a lump of clay, slab of granite... you get the idea, and turning it into a thing of beauty. I've always wanted to be magical, and in this world, art is about as close as you get. The only problem was, I couldn't draw. Period.

Not only that, I couldn't sculpt, paint, or anything else in the visual art spectrum. Nothing. Oh, I'd try from time to time when one of my kids would say, "Mom, draw me a cat." I'd work really hard and hand them my masterpiece. They'd frown, scrunch their noses up, level me with a critic's eye, and say, "That isn't a cat."

Yes, it was that bad.

I met a wonderful artist who told me anyone could learn to draw. I flat out called her a liar. On more than one occasion. Yes, I'm that nice.

Lucky for me, she's kind, patient, and just a little stubborn. She honestly believed I could learn this magical ability to make images appear on paper with a pencil.(See it is magic. Just think of the pencil as a wand.) Back in September, she ordered me to show up for an art lesson. I came to her front door clutching a number two pencil and a few loose sheets of computer paper. By the end of the lesson I had this.



Magic.

By February, this.



Now I'm working on this. Keep in mind it's a work in progress and not even close to being finished.



Isn't my friend and art teacher amazing? I know I have a ton to learn, and a lifetime to practice, before I can call myself an artist, but I'm giddy with excitement. It's almost like I've found a secret power that I never knew I had. Discovery. Creating. Learning. Three awesome things that make living incredible.

What new things have you tried lately?