FLAMENCO DANCER

We had dinner with friends last night and for the first time in my life I saw a real live Flamenco dancer. I watched in awe the beauty of the dance. Her facial expressions along with the movement of her hands and body, told a story that masqued the music. I tried to eat dinner, but sat, with fork in hand gazing at the talent and beauty of the young woman directly in front of us. She had a partner whose grace matched hers. His movements reminded my husband of a bull fighter. For a few moments I imagined my husband and I on the stage, castanets in hand, stomping and twisting and dancing, telling a story. My husbands gaze caught my eye, he squeezed my hand. "Are you ready to go home and get into our jammies? It's getting late." I nodded. After all it was almost 8:30.

HANG ON

I talked to a friend today who seemed to be at the end of her rope. She said she was feeling overwhelmed. They may be losing their house, her business isn't where it should be due to the economy. And probably just everyday living was also contributing to her blue mood. It's so hard to hang on when things don't seem to be going your way. In the case of a writer, when you've polished your manuscript to the point it's shining. You are sure you have just written the Great American Novel, you send it off to the publisher and then wait. What do you do while you are waiting? You write! You read everything about your craft, attend writing workshops, attend a writing class. Hook up with a critique group. The only thing you don't do is sit and wait by your mail box. Why? Just trust me, you need to stay motivated and productive. Besides, while you are waiting for "the" letter telling you that you have written the next best seller, you could be writing the sequel. I tried to encourage my friend today, let her know she's never alone. Many other people are facing foreclosure or losing their jobs too. But, we all have to stick together. Hang on. It has to get better, doesn't it?

WE'LL SEE EACH OTHER AGAIN

I used to sit on the patio every morning reading my devotions. I loved being outside waiting for the birds to wake up and sing to me. It was quiet and cool except for the traffic on the nearby highway. In addition to my quiet time, I looked forward to a visit from my next door neighbor, Dee. Her husband Vic and our neighbor on the other side Bob, went to Burger King every morning for coffee. The guys brought coffee back to their wives. When Vic left with Bob, Dee would walk over and to sit on the patio with me. We shared a love for dogs. The love of her life is Reece, a dapple long haired dachshund. When Reece and my West Highland Terrier Bailey got together, they tore through the field. They took turns chasing each other, barking, tails wagging and running as hard as they could run. We laughed and yelled like we were watching a football game. Dee loved being one of my "first readers". She waited, sometimes not so patiently for another chapter of the manuscript I was working on. She would email me with questions about what was going to happen next? We used to send each other email several times a day, and laugh that we could have just as easily opened the window and yelled. Dee was diagnosed with a rare blood disorder two years ago, which was treated with chemotherapy. She had a rigorous schedule to follow. The chemo left her weak and most times with no appetite. I did my best to keep them supplied in desserts and sometimes dinner. After a few rounds of chemo, Dee had to be transfused. This season (October to May) they weren't able to travel to Florida. She had to stay in New York for treatment. It wasn't unusual not to hear from Dee for a week or two, because she was hospitalized for more transfusions. I would wait, and get the usual two or three emails a day. The emails continued to get further and further between. Her sister-in-law who lives here in Florida, very near by, told us that Dee was doing just fine, but that she was depressed. I remember thinking, of course she's depressed. Who wouldn't be. In all her emails, Dee assured me they would be coming to Florida in June. That's when her treatments would be over. She consistently reminded me "we'll see each other again." For whatever reason, Dee didn't want any of us to know how ill she really was, even her family. I learned yesterday the rare blood disorder was finally diagnosed as leukemia. As I write this blog, with tears in my eyes, I finally realized what Dee has been telling me for the past six months. "We'll see each other again." Dee passed away yesterday. Yes, Dee, We will see each other again.

IT'S JUST LIFE

I follow several writers and try to comment on their blogs as often as I can. One of the blogs I read early this morning, mentioned she hadn't been able to blog lately because "life" keeps getting in the way. That's a funny way to put it, but I can relate. When my children were home we all had a schedule. As a single Mom, that was the only way I could keep my sanity and assure they got to where they were supposed to be on the right day. Not only did I have a full time job, but I also wrote a column for the local paper. There were many days, nights too, when I felt like I needed to be more than one person. It seemed like there was always something I had to do before I could sit down to write. It was during that period of time that I wrote my first novel. Many nights at 2 or 3 a.m. you would find me pounding the keyboard, lost in my world of fiction. Now, my children are grown, so what takes all my time? Believe me, I've asked myself that same question. It's just life.

TENACITY

A young person commented to me the other day that if I could write a book he was sure he could. In fact he said anyone could write a book. I smiled to myself, but I have to agree with him. He's only fourteen, and I'm not sure how many "life" experiences he thinks he has, but he is right. Anyone can write a book. I'm learning though, it does take more than just the desire to write. That helps, but tenacity and life experiences help too. There are many factors which come into play when it comes to writing a book. I read a few statistics the other day which said that most people who start a manuscript will never finish it. The other obstacle that seems to manifest itself is selling yourself short. One lady said to me "who would want to read what I've written?" She might be surprised, if she finished the manuscript. In addition to getting the words on paper, being able to convey your meaning, you also have to hold the readers interest. What makes them want to turn the page, rather than drop the book into a pile of "maybe I'll read later" vs: "can't turn the pages fast enough". Once you've finished the manuscript, and polished it until it shines, you submit it. You wait and get rejected. Do you quit because one publisher doesn't like what you wrote? Stephen King said he drove a nail in the wall to store all his rejection slips. When he received so many and the nail would no longer hold them, he replaced the nail with a spike. He didn't quit. And you can't either. Just keep hammering away. That's what it takes. Tenacity.

IT'S FOR THE BIRDS

I woke very early this morning, about 4:30 not able to fall back asleep. I'm a slow learner, but I finally decided it was better to get up, head to the office and work, rather than lie in bed fidgeting about work. I am editing my latest manuscript. My editor assumes I know more than I do, because she will use one word to explain something. I sit and stare at the sentence, hoping something will pop into my mind. This morning was no different. It sat on the sofa in my office listening to the birds waking up. I love doves. We have Mourning Dove's, White-tipped Doves, White winged Doves and my favorite African Collard Doves, all in our back yard. We have red-winged black birds and a few blue jays and finches. This morning a little bird, while sitting on the feeder chirping, but not eating drew my attention. The bird sitting beside him, apparently his mother, fed him bird seed. I watched for several minutes as this mother tended to her demanding, almost grown child. I thought of myself with my editor, gently feeding me. She nudges me along with her tidbits and comments, and I follow along after her waiting for more crumbs. She has taken me under her wing. Someday soon, I hope to be able to fly on my own, just like the birds I watch everyday.