The Curve Ball

Discover Prompts Day 8: Curve

So “curve.”

The first thing that came to mind when I saw the prompt was “curveball.” As I continued reading and I smiled when I saw the rest of MW’s line. “Life has thrown a big one at a lot of us these days: a curve.”

I was excited when I saw that the Discover page was going to offer daily prompts in April. When I first started blogging a few years ago, I found the DailyPosts and WP Blogging U very helpful. But alas, I fell off the blog wagon awhile back. This year I don’t have the energy for NaNoWriMo and/or the A to Z challenge. It has nothing to do with COVID 19. Life happens, and my creativity is “Meh.”

Truth be told, I’ve struggled with these prompts this time around. The prompts and alternate ideas are creative and engaging, but I spend all day churning ideas in my head that don’t get to my page.

For example, prompt # 2 Open, brought me to the Grand Canyon, but that trip came with ghosts of the past. I saved the essay for another day. Prompt # 6 Hands. brought me the question, “what is the sound of one hand, clapping?” It was one of those days that I started to do research to make sure the riddle was not about one hand slapping. That post didn’t even make the page. I was going to tie that prompt in with # 7:Below. A suggestion on that day was, Think about the last time you were emotional — angry, or elated, or sad, or nervous. What lay below, feeding that emotion? I was not ready to go there on day seven.

Here I am today, talking about The Curve, with a post I started in March.

If you’ve read my posts before, you may know that I’ve been working part-time at a public library. I really like the place. We are one of the smallest branches in our county’s system of 10 sites, including three larger regional libraries. Its hard work and we regularly deal with staff turnover, but we’ve also got a great team of volunteers that come in each day to help.

I have enjoyed everything about the job. In shelving books, I often find some treasured tome that I didn’t know existed. I enjoy people, and actually, my favorite part is dealing with the patrons, especially the regulars. What a great crowd. Most are old-timers and have been coming to that little branch for over twenty years. The full-time senior staffers know just about every person by name. They look forward to seeing them each winter when they come back. Upon returning to town for the winter, many patrons consider their first stops, the library, and Publix – in that order!

The staff often know, and most importantly, they genuinely care who is sick, who just got a promotion, took a trip, started a business, or wrote a book. Some of the elderly and the lonely stop in to read the newspapers or use the public computers. They also come in to connect – that irreplaceable human contact that we all need. Everyone gets a warm welcome and a free smile.

Sometimes the place feels as if it were an episode of the sitcom “CHEERS.” The tv show is about a neighborhood bar in Boston. We don’t serve drinks, but the atmosphere feels similar – friendly and accommodating.

“Sometimes you want to go
Where everybody knows your name,
And they’re always glad you came;
You want to be where you can see,
Our troubles are all the same;
You want to be where everybody knows your name.” (Intro theme from Cheers.)

On Wednesday mornings, one can’t help but smile as the children’s laughter, and singing spills out of the storytime space and into the great room where most of the action happens. There is such excitement when they come to check out the books they picked themselves or have found all the pictures of the scavenger hunt around the library. They bring the classics – princesses and dragons, dogs and cats and of course tv favorites. I’m hopeful that these experiences will remain stored in their little minds and hearts, as they have remained for me. I still believe libraries are a treasure cove of amazing things and a vital part of communities.

Last month, however, the libraries closed to the public. A few days after that, I made the decision to stay at home.

The library offered curbside service so that patrons could pick up books or materials that they had reserved before the emergency declaration. We have plenty of e-resources online, but because for some people, the web feels overwhelming, staff is available by phone to assist in navigating the resources.

Behind the scenes, due to the potential risk of contamination with COVID 19, the library staff was disinfecting equipment and preparing materials to be placed in quarantine. Because of the life span of the virus on paper or plastic, books, and DVDs can not be put back on the shelves directly. The library materials need to sit out in quarantine for days. As I said before, our site is small, and the only place considered available to quarantine books was in the great room in front of our circulation desk. Due to the health risk involved, and after consulting my medical provider, I made the decision to stay home.

As more information becomes available, new risk management protocols are in place to keep staff safe and patrons informed. I tip my hat to those who continue to work for the library patrons in different capacities. I pray for them and their families, for they are part of the remarkable army of unsung heroes we’ve come to recognize during these difficult times.

Currently, there is no opportunity for me to telecommute. It has been three weeks. I’m not sure where I go from here as there are so many unknowns. My life right now seems up in the air, but this is not my first rodeo, I will get back to living my true life soon enough.

As I searched the web for a photo to add to my post today, I found this quote on Google Images. I think it suits me perfectly. What do you think?

Dishing it Out

Discover Prompts Day 5: Dish

Usually, on a Sunday, I prepare meals and “healthy” snacks for the week. I work part-time a few towns away, and during the tourist season in SW Florida, the commute at peak hours is a nightmare. On days that I have to work, I like to make sure I don’t have to fuss over what I’m going to eat. On days that I don’t work, I still don’t like planning and preparing elaborate meals. I’ve taken to making one pot and one-dish meals, such as soups, casseroles, pizza, or pasta. Keep it Simple is my motto.

This is the second week where I’ve not planned out my week partly because I have not been to work for three weeks because of COVID 19. It has been challenging to plan, mainly because the supermarket has been hit or miss with what is available. I make it up as I go along. I managed to find ground turkey at the end of last week and promptly prepared my version of “sloppy joes” on mini French rolls with a side of oven-fries and a cucumber salad.

In preparing my meal, I noticed that I was running low on “recaito.” Recaito is a homemade seasoning, basic to just about all my recipes. Some people call it sofrito, which means “gently fried” or sautéed. Growing up, I used to watch my grandmother and mother chop up all the vegetables each time for every meal. The onions, pepper garlic, and sometimes tomatoes are sautéed in a heavy pan before adding to the dish. Every day, for every meal…chop, chop! On rare occasions, I’ll take the time to do to chop up everything fresh, but in general, I thank goodness for blenders, food processors, and Magic bullets!

Recaito. consists of onion, garlic, peppers (I prefer cubanelle or Italian pepper), aji dulce -small sweet peppers (don’t confuse with the Scotch bonnets), add cilantro and culantro/coriander leaves (culantro has a more robust flavor, use sparingly.)

As you know, supermarkets have limited supplies, and since I didn’t feel like traveling to a specialty supermarket, I decided to make the Lazy -Lindi version of recaito. These are, after all, unprecedented times of basic survival. The newscasts continue to say that things will get worse or peak in the coming weeks. I don’t want to be without recaito in the middle of a pandemic. We all have our limits.

Usually, I make a big batch to share. See my attempt at a still-life of my ingredients and tools. You may recognize a Ninja blender, extra-large measuring cup, ice cube trays, pre-cut green peppers and onions, peeled garlic, a small bunch of cilantro, and small packaged culantro. The ice cube trays are for easy storage. After the ingredients are blended, I pour the mixture in Ice cube trays and then in a freezer bag or container. When I’m cooking, it’s easy to pop an ice cube or two into my soups, sauces, Spanish rice, or beans. If you are not feeling exotic, leave out the cilantro and culantro. It’s still a tasty and convenient way to have condiments on hand.

So with my magic ingredient past down from generations, I am ready to survive our COVID 19 Pandemic. Be safe.

Welcome to My Street

Discover Prompt #4 – Street

BlogStreetFrontDoor (2) — View from my front door

The street where I live is actually a Circle. They tell me it’s about one mile all the way around. My furry Baby Girl and I walk half the length a few times a day. Sometimes, out my front door and past the parking lot, I feel like I’m stepping into a magic forest.

The Embers is an apartment community in the middle of a large city. I’m told the project was built inside a protected conservation area. It’s generally quiet and tranquil except for the occasional ambulance in the distance or helicopters flying to the Trauma Center at a nearby hospital.

The street is lined with all kinds of native trees and plants. The street lamps seem to have been strategically placed, so that during the hours just before nightfall or daylight, shadows can play tricks on your eyes. The soft light from the moon and stars seems to make the street glow, and it’s easy to forget that I’m not really out in the woods.

On our street, the regular small woodland creatures like possum, armadillos, snakes, and squirrels forage for food and make their homes in the thick vegetation. The trees are filled with all kinds of birds, each one signing a unique melody with the woodpeckers keeping rhythm with their tap, tap, tap.

There is a large population of cats – blacks, and tuxedo, marmalade, and tigers in grey and black. It’s hard to tell if they are all feral or just out for the day. Baby Girl loves the kitties, but whenever we come near, they scamper away into the tall grass just beyond the road where she can’t reach them. Each time she catches a whiff of a kitty, she gets so excited and desperately wants them to play with her. I can see them watching her from within the bushes. Sometimes I wonder what they think of all her enthusiasm.

BlogStreetwheresthe kitty (2) — Scent of a kitty

There are no sidewalks on our street, but boulders where placed near the ends of speed-bumps to keep drivers off the grass. Covered in moss and dirt, on days of dense fog, these boulders appear to be stunted creatures trying to climb out of the ground. I’ve wanted to photograph them, but these crafty creatures turn back to solid rock when they see me take out my phone!

BlogStonecreature. and Elizajpg — Baby Girl and the Stone Creator

My imagination ponders about the natural history of this place. Who were the first dwellers here, and how did they spend their day?

It’s great that this piece of land has been kept in some kind of land conservation trust. I’m especially glad that with all the social distancing regulation, I have a nice space to walk and let get inspired.

Welcome to my street.

A joke prompt to start off the month on April Fool’s Day!

A joke prompt to start off the month on April Fool’s Day! I’m hoping we get a great response. Lord knows we need a laugh these days.

I wish I could think of something humorous, but I’m terribly not spontaneous that way. Some people have told me I’m funny as in amusing, but also as in weird. I am amazed at naturally quick-witted people. I can’t tell jokes. I forget punchlines or worse – I start off with the punchline, and as you can imagine, its downhill from there.

If I’m in a conversation and something strikes me, I can be funny with an off the cuff flip answer of sarcasm or cynicism, double meanings, or a pun. Sometimes, I’ll break into a song, jingle, or tv program theme. Maybe it’s the result of watching too many musicals in my lifetime. Doesn’t everyone burst into song if the moment is right?

Try as I might, I can’t think of a joke right now, not even a corny “dad joke,” not even with help from Google!

I went through a phase when I was obsessed with old radio and tv comedy shows. I had to do my own research to compare if the acts were really funny or just the nostalgia that made them classics. It continues to amaze me that these entertainers can be so hilarious without spewing obscene graphic language. Don’t get me wrong, I totally understand that there are situations when only a powerful four-letter word will do, but sometimes I watch these stand-ups – male or female, and it seems they have no talent or imagination, so they go in for the shock value.

I still enjoy listening to George Burns and Gracie Allen, Red Skelton, and of course, the incomparable “I Love Lucy.” One of my all-time favorite comedy routines, though, is Abbot and Costello’s “Who’s on First?” They began performing it in the 1930s, and about 55 years later, in the 1980s and 90s, our local radio station WCCM would play it every year on the Opening Day of the baseball season. I’ve loved it ever since.

Thanks for doing the Discover Prompts this month. I hope it will help me get back on the saddle.

Winds of Change are Stirring

New Ideas

As some may have noticed, for the past several months, I’ve had a hard time getting back into a regular rhythm of writing and posting at “Self Censored.” I can write about why and where my energy is going, but the bottom line is I’m trying to figure out where I want to go with this blog. This ambivalence makes it easy for so many other things to get in the way.

For example, while I’m on a roll and in the groove at the computer today, Eliza – my furry baby girl jumps on my lap because she wants to go out. I put her down, but she gets back up and desperately tries to get my attention by licking my face. Naturally, I stop and go out for a while as she examines all the spots she missed the last time we were out. Needless to say, when we get back, she needs a snack to reward her for doing her business outside, and while I’m at it, I decide to warm up the pumpkin muffin that is still waiting in the fridge.

Let’s get back to why I’m here today. I want to change things up a bit on my blog. I’m thinking about changing the layout, title, and domain name. I’ve been working on WordPress.com, but I’ve been recommended to try WordPress.org because it has more flexibility. As I’m mulling ideas about the nuts and bolts, I’ve also been thinking about my content. Is the “About” page still accurate? Are my goals the same? Is my motivation the same? Who I’m writing for? Maybe I don’t want to be censored anymore.

The idea for change came one day as I was at the library working on “collection maintenance” (re-shelving books, straightening up and making the place look presentable). That day I found a little book called “Why We Write. Twenty Acclaimed Authors on How and Why They Do What They Do.” By Meridith Maran. I tend to be a wee bit superstitious and thought to myself, “Hmmm, maybe this is the insight I need right now.” Truth be told, the book did turn out to be encouraging and stimulating. Of course, there was the usual advice from well know authors about perseverance and dealing with rejection, but it was the similarities to my thought process that inspired me.

Like myself, many of the authors included in the book found reading and writing as an emotional outlet early on. I’ve been journaling since I was a kid. I had poems and prose entered in my school papers and yearbooks since middle school. At one point, I thought I would make journalism a career. A friend and I fantasied as kids about working on projects together. He’d be a famous photojournalist, and I’d be the writer. Ahhh youth….

In the book, I found some authors began writing to explain or to make sense of the changing world around them – first to themselves and then to connect with others with the same uneasiness in spirit. They described taking ordinary moments from one’s particular point of view, “freeze-dry” the moment to let the reader “add water,” connect with the notion and make it their own. As I read, I could hear that voice of affirmation and validation in my head.

It was from this book that I decided to write fantasy or magical realism instead of continuing with the short stories and snapshots of my memories. It was with this new project in mind that I started connecting with co-workers in the Nanowrimo model. But alas, here I am reaching the end of November but still quite far from finishing a novel or novelette or whatever. I do however have a better idea of what I want to write, how, and most importantly why. I’ve done some research to move my story and characters forward, and I count that as progress. I see my finished project as a female version of Santiago the Spanish Shepard looking for The Alchemist, meets King Arthur’s Merlin at The Shack with Mack. Wish me luck!

As for you, keep writing. I check in to the blogs I follow and get inspired. I enjoy getting updates, reading your stories, and delight in how creatively you let your voices be heard.

Until next time, all the best.

(Photo from Pexels in WordPress)

A Writer’s Illusions and Delusions

My heart quivers in anticipation

As a thousand butterflies do pirouettes in my belly

Photo by Dids on Pexels.com

Inspiration:

I’m awake and breathless with anticipation.

Or is it my allergic asthma because of the old oak tree outside my open window?

My belly quivers as if a million caterpillars crawl around trying on butterfly wings

Or… was it the chicken and curry from last night’s dinner?

When is it an illusion or a delusion? When does a delusion become an illusion or is it the other way around. Is it that difference in perception that makes one appear “crazy” or impractical?

Ah, the questions that keep writers up at night.

Sweet Lemonade Out of Wrinkly Limes.

She was a gentle spirit who sang her prayers, but even the saintly have limits. She was an artist, a singer, a storyteller. She was a mother, a daughter, a wounded healer sought out by her neighbors for comfort and answers. She was my hero, my teacher, my friend.

She was crafts and science projects of carrot tops in shallow saucers or bird seeds in eggshells which later resembled a miniature forest on our windowsill. She was pastel colored chicks at Easter, picnics, and carousels at the park in summer. She was happy Christmas carols a shiny aluminum Christmas trees with bright blue ornaments.

I was her daughter – sometimes rude, sometimes impatient, but always in awe of the brave woman who could make a tall glass of sweet lemonade when life gave her a bowl of tart, wrinkled, old limes.

full drinking glass with slice of lime — Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Belling the Cat from Aesop’s Fables

Letter B ( A to Z Challenge April 2019)

Through the years, the story of Belling the Cat like many of Aesop’s fables has been re-written and adapted to different cultures and social norms of the moment. It is a simple story of a community of mice coming together to solve a common problem, a CAT!

The mice held a meeting and complained that it was impossible for them to go about their day peacefully with the threat of the big cat springing on them unexpectedly. As I am not an expert on mice culture and certainly not one to sit and observe mice, I suppose a family of mice would pursue happiness by being involved in activities such as building nests and gathering food.

In any event, the mice mulled over the fact that each time as they went about their business, the cat, being a hunter by nature, would do what cats do. He would bring his long sleek body close to the ground and with padded feet, quietly sneak up on them; He would pounce on one unlucky victim and capture it within his sharp claws. The other mice would scatter and run as fast as their little feet could carry them, knowing that they would never see their friend again.

The deliberations went on for hours. There was much arguing about what to do with this cat that was disrupting their lives and threatening their very existence. Ideas came and went, and finally, a very young mouse said: “it’s very simple really, hang a bell around its neck so that we can hear him coming and run for shelter before he grabs someone.”

“What a great idea! An amazing plan.” An elderly mouse who had not spoken before said, “I’m glad we all agree. Now my friends, who will have the courage to step forward to do it?” There was silence, and soon there was the shuffling of hundreds of little feet. It seemed that when looking for volunteers, they all took one step backward and the deliberation continued.

“Brave words are easier than brave deeds.” Aesop’s Fables by Jerry Pinkey

Have you ever been to a planning meeting at work, school or church and found yourself in a similar situation? Most times the issue is not anything dangerous, just time-consuming or merely new. There have been group meetings where we’ve pondered options that seem good in theory, but no one was willing to put into action.

It always amazes me that Aesop’s stories are still relevant today. We have come a long way and have developed many great projects and ideas, but over the centuries our nature remains the same.

If Aesop were telling this story today, he would probably say: “ All talk and no action leaves us in the same predicament.” Don’t you agree? `

#AtoZChallenge #April 2019

Left Behind after a Death

A social media post reminded me the other night that it was a year to the day since my cousin, Joe died. I’m sad I didn’t remember, I spoke to his mom earlier that day. We talked for an hour about all sorts of trivial things, but she didn’t mention him till we were wrapping up. Even then, she told me it was his wife that missed him. She said: “Lizzy called this morning and told me she had been dreaming of Joe.” I’m usually more on the ball and can pick up things with my “third ear.” She called because she was sad, but I missed it.

I grew up close to my cousin and his sister. Our families would get together every weekend when we were kids in Brooklyn. He was the best man at my brother’s wedding. He went to prep school in New England on a scholarship, and after that, as the years past, we saw each other very little. I know he was a family man; crazy about his kids and a good husband. His son posted a sweet memorial that day and wished his dad would have been around to meet his first granddaughter.

When hurricane Maria caused chaos in Puerto Rico, Joe went to get his recently widowed mom and brought her back to stay with his family until he was sure things were better in her town. It was November when he dropped his mom off at the airport. That day, Joe told his mom that he wasn’t planning to retire anytime soon. He liked his job and was in good health. “I’m in it for the long haul,” he told her. They said goodbye, and he went to work. A few hours later, a co-worker found him slumped over his desk. It was his heart. He was 60 years old. My aunt didn’t go to the funeral; she didn’t want to see her little boy buried.

This incident got me thinking about how after death, life goes on around us here on earth. I remember feeling disconnected from everything and everyone whenever I’ve lost someone very close to me. I sat at my desk one day holding back tears because I was in pain and the world keep spinning on its tilted axis. The sun and the moon each came up as scheduled, people worked, laughed and played all around me as they had the day before and the day before that. I wanted to scream “STOP! It still hurts, Can’t you see? I’ve lost a part of me.” Intellectually, I know we all take turns with grieving one thing or another; and we all grieve differently, but at that moment, it hit me how personal grieving really is, but as they say, “the beat goes on.”

Growing up, as an Evangelical in Brooklyn, I knew nothing of the “Day of the Dead” traditions. In that fundamentalist religious culture, anything otherworldly is anathema, considered evil and would lead straight to perdition. It is that way for Halloween and the “pagan” Gaelic origins in Samhain. I find it interesting that both the Aztecs and ancient people of Scottish-Irish islands had similar celebrations before Christianity got to there. I was curious and learned that other ancient cultures in addition to China and Japan also set aside one day to celebrate or honor the dead ancestors.

I found out later in life that my grandparents traditionally celebrated the Day of the Dead, but with a somber tone. Even though they were not Catholic, they liked to be respectful of the family members who passed on before them. It was a day of quiet reflection for them. When I converted to Catholicism several years ago, I found the celebrations of All Souls Day and All Saints very comforting. I’m glad that the Church did not erase the sentiment behind these “pagan” traditions.

In my family, we have lost many loved ones prematurely by today’s standards, but really who is to say how many days are in the itinerary for this journey. Because we don’t know, we are encouraged to live each day to the fullest, to take every opportunity or to “make it a great day.” What happens when things don’t work out the way we plan?

A long time ago, I decided to embrace the idea that life or success is not a straight shot. At least it hasn’t worked that way for me or others I have met along the way. As I mentioned to someone the other day, getting to our goal is perhaps more like using the subway system or public transit to get our errands done at the different stops along the way. Let’s say we have a “to do” list, and sometimes we forget or miss an item and have to go back, or we find something interesting but unexpected, and we are detained for longer than we planned.

Of course, sometimes the train malfunctions and we need to rethink our strategy. The problem is out of our control, but we need to get things done. What do we do? We get out and walk, take the next train, find other means of transportation or look at how we can rearrange priorities to maximize our time.

I’ve been fortunate to have great role models. Grandparents, parents, aunts, and uncles who taught me that is possible to overcome obstacles. I have heard stories of any one of them who was helpful to someone in need, even though they may have been confronting their own struggles. People remember them with love and admiration.

None of them were famous or of great wealth, but they left a mark that they were here. During these days of celebrating life and death, I didn’t light candles or put out food for their visit, but I remember them and honor their lives every day. And if there is a bridge or door or whatever for the spirits of our loved ones to visit, I hope they are pleased with how their seeds have grown and flourished.

I loved the movie “Coco” #Disney magic.

Why Bring Flowers?

Used to be Love, Flowers, and Goodbye

Tildie slowly exhaled and closed her laptop. Every morning after meditations, she checked her emails and social media. Now and then Tildie would come across the story of the eighty-year-old man who walked five miles to have breakfast with his wife in a memory care facility. When people asked him why he continued to go daily for so many years if she didn’t remember him; his answer always gave Clotilde “Tildie” Delsapo reason to pause: “She doesn’t remember me, but I remember her, and I haven’t forgotten how we used to be.”

Tildie dressed this morning with an old Barbara Streisand – Neil Diamond duet on her mind. The song, “You Don’t Bring Me Flowers” had taken on a new meaning for her. On rough days she would sing it fighting back the tears.

Today Tildie decided to stop on her way and buy fresh flowers from the garden nursery. She knew Sergio could still appreciate the beauty and perhaps the sweet fragrance would trigger a memory. She would make sure there were sprigs of lavender with hopes that somewhere in his new world he would find her.

At one time Sergio and Tildie were two spirits bound by love flying high above the clouds and earthly troubles. It wasn’t all rainbows and chocolates, but she had chosen to file the bad memories in a separate place. Tildie remembered the laughter, the tenderness and the adventures they shared. She remembered their late night talks. In her arms he was able to unlock the complex emotions he kept hidden from the rest. Tildie recalled how finding a smiley face on a post-it note in her notebook, kept a silly grin on her face for the rest of the day.

Sergio Miviere taught her many things about the world, about love, about herself. He helped her believe in her talents and pursue her dreams. Sometimes as they ate ice cream by the seashore, they would people watch. They would sit close together and whisper stories. They could build on each other’s imagination to create vignettes about their surroundings. “How do you come up with this stuff?” he told her often as he giggled like a small boy.

He had a scholar’s mind and could rationalize or give explanations in great detail about anything. Teaching was second nature, everything was a life-lesson, and she loved to hear him talk about the world around them. Yes, she thought, intelligence IS sexy.

She first started to notice a problem, when he talked to her of people she didn’t know, or he would say, “Remember the other day we were at …” but she had never been there. He had been there for business or with friends. She wanted to ignore the signs, but others started to ask concerned questions.

By far the saddest moment was when Sergio finally put aside his pride and acknowledged that his difficulty went beyond distraction or the stress having a lot on his mind. She watched him change before her eyes as he became angry and fearful of what was to come. Tildie promised Sergio all her love; to be with him forever.

In the years that followed they took extra care to cherish every moment. Every sunrise and sunset marked another day they were together. They received each day in gratitude, but little by little Sergio went down a path that left Tildie behind, alone to make difficult decisions.

The day Sergio moved to the care center was just another day of muddled talk and confusion for him. He stared at the ceiling as they helped him to bed unable to find words to ask questions. In that bed, Tildie left a shell of the man she loved, but also a piece of her heart. That night she couldn’t sleep, and the next morning she was at the Center by his bed before he awoke. He didn’t know who she was, but she knew him. She remembered who they used to be, Sergio and Tildie.

On good days Tildie thought there was a flicker of recognition. He would let her lay in bed with him. She liked to believe that his spirit remembered hers. She held him and sang to him “May I have this Dance?” until he fell asleep.

Today there was a vase of fresh flowers on the desk by the window with sprigs of lavender. Sergio’s eyes widened, perhaps in recognition of a memory they shared, but he no longer had the words. These moments had become Tildie’s life. How could she learn to say goodbye?

The more I write, the more I become aware of my process, and I’m beginning to see patterns in my writing. Even though I don’t post every day, I make it my business to sit down and work on something. I wrote this piece for my critique group this week. It’s flash fiction, and my challenge is trying to stay within the 750 words. I looked at some things in my drafts folder and started a few other stories, but nothing seemed to motivate me enough to put energy into it.

I went to see the new “A Star is born” last weekend. It was excellent on its own but some aspects still reminded me of Barbara Streisand. I started playing some of my favorites and was inspired to write this story with limited knowledge on the subject. It was well received in the group. Coincidently, another writer shared a personal account and a few poems about the same topic from a different point of view followed by some interesting discussion. I got some great suggestions which I will work on in the future, but it will certainly be more than 750 words.

(Pictures are not my own. Borrowed from Pexels on WordPress)

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