What Makes Words Live On The Page?

Food for the journey:

“If a writer of prose knows enough of what he is writing about he may omit things that he knows and the reader, if the writer is writing truly enough, will have a feeling of those things as strongly as though the writer had stated them. The dignity of movement of an ice-berg is due to only one-eighth of it being above water. A writer who omits things because he does not know them only makes hollow places in his writing.”
—Ernest Hemingway in Death in the Afternoon

Hawt Dang!

Well hawt dang! Pass the champagne!

I went to my eye specialist this afternoon.  Some of you know, she checks my left eye for the wet macular degeneration.  Sometimes, if there are issues, I get a teeny injection of Avastin in that eye.  I’ve done that for about 10 years.  The medication restricts the eye vessels and helps the leakage to stabilize –

Wonderful news is that I haven’t needed an injection since October 2013!  Two years!  And I didn’t need one today, either.  Maybe she hit the leaky vessel right in its sweet spot with that injection two years ago!

I don’t have to return for 6 months.  An entire holiday season with no medical visits!  Praise the Lord and pass the champagne!  I’ll pour :)


Mother Mary Pray For Us – Fiction

Here is my submission for this week’s Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers photograph.  Somewhere between 75 and 175 words somehow relating to this photograph -be sure to click the frog icon (after this piece) for links to other stories…balloons

Mother Mary Pray For Us

The coast breeze smelled saltier and more bitter that morning. The sun shone dull. Pelicans and seagulls circled the pier and called into my bedroom window.

I put on my fuzzy bunny slippers and shuffled my way into the kitchen. Into the morning’s coffee preparation and toast and little nothings to pass the time until the brew was perfectly acceptable.

Settling on the balcony, I listened to the prayer flags fluttering in the breeze. I remembered the day I’d bought the flags, and the Tibetan monk who’d sold them to me.

“What good are flags fluttering in the wind?” I asked him.

“Blessings in the breezes,” he replied.

I paid 10 bucks for a banner of the colorful flags. They’re still hanging from my balcony. Flapping fading hopeful blessings.


Hum A Few Bars For Me – One Moment’s Poem

Hum A Few Bars For Me

I watch the hummingbirds
each afternoon
coming to suckle on plant nectar
and sugared water dessert.
Some call out their hungry
early evening appearance
on the balcony.
I call back sweetly
For, if anything,
I am faithful
to unasked for
Who is less loyal
than the fleeting hummingbird
suckling for a moment
here and there?


When There’s No Longer Anything Concrete to Touch – A Diary Entry

Sometimes I come back and delete an entry – like I’m the only one in the world who experiences these sorts of moments and I don’t want to seem odd.  I’ll try not to do that this time.  I’ll just go ahead and post this.  Deep breath…

I will write a poem about this day’s discoveries – or a story or a novel or just more entries. Who knows?

I am reading a lot lately. Ever since I purchased my Kindle Paper Light thing I’d sworn I’d never use in my life. And so, when my vision became so bad – legally blind in one eye – and reading printed books became more and more difficult and the online PC Kindle just didn’t feel like a book…reading, something I used to live to do (right up there with writing) began to drift away from me. I hate audio books (well I shouldn’t say that since I may be sentenced to them one day) because I like to put my own voice into my reading – mine and the writer’s…not some second cousin twice removed voice.

I’ve just finished reading Savage Beauty (biography of Edna St. Vincent Millay) and Drowning Ruth (I guess it was some sort of emotional thriller. It was scary in its possibilities) and I’m almost finished reading Come Back Early Today – a book about lovers going through one of them developing dementia.

My mother suffers from dementia. She had a stroke – shortly after my parents’  home was destroyed by Hurricane Katrina. She developed dementia after her stroke and my father felt so very responsible to care for her. Then my father died. Or gave up. It must have been difficult to move – forcefully – from the New Orleans French Quarter to Tennessee. I guess, at their age (75) I would want to give up, too, rather than trying to adapt – again.

Maybe that’s how that book came to my Kindle – Come Back Early Today. Maybe I wanted – at some point – to read a personal account about dementia. Not some medical stupid and impersonal stuff.

I don’t remember a time in my life when I felt a real closeness to my mother. I do remember being an emotional support to her when I became an adult – because I felt sorry for her and angry that society was such that she thought she had to stay married because she was a faithful Catholic and had had five kids and “What was I to do with five children and no husband?”

When we kids were all grown and moved away, she was still bemoaning her life with my father. One evening I had dinner with her and challenged her to leave and be free of it all. She couldn’t leave her ‘things’…which were eventually ripped from her by Mother Nature.

And that’s what I want to write about about Hurricane Katrina – our total inability to determine the moment total loss will/does enter a life and how that moment is received.

Oh well so now – that didn’t hurt much. I’m clearer headed and more hopeful these days. I was right to reduce my anti depressant. I’ve actually been crying sometimes lately. That’s a good feeling – to have a sad feeling now and then. That’s normal …

I’m giving myself lots of slack…and the easier I am on myself, the kinder I feel towards those who occupy my space now and then.