Friday, July 17, 2009
Hiatus
I realize I haven't blogged here in a while. My creative juices are being channeled towards the book(s) that I am writing. I might post excerpts every now and then, but until they are done, we are on temporary Word Art hiatus!
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Mystery Novel 101
Unbelievable.
That was the one and only word I could think of as I stood there. The only thing that snapped me out of my stupor was the bit of drool I felt on my chin. I vaguely wondered how long my mouth had been open and if I looked like a codfish, but only vaguely. The foremost thought on my mind was, of course, the shoebox full of cash.
$40,000. In my garage. Like I said, unbelievable.
The condition of the old Nike box told me that it had been there a while. I’m not sure how I could have missed it, because my garage is one that usually exists in magazines. Clean, organized and sparkly, I’m pretty sure it could be in a Black and Decker tools commercial. So, the discovery of the dirty box itself was surprising, let alone the money.
I finally realized I needed to do something about it, and, while drooling was doing something, it wasn’t exactly a useful something. I dug around looking for any evidence of where it had come from. Satisfied that I would find no clues in the garage, I gathered it up and decided the kitchen table would work.
True to my OCD nature, I neatly stacked the money in equal piles, making sure that I had counted it correctly. I checked each bill, a random combination of 1’s through 100’s, in case there was a note on or between them. Then, as I neatly destroyed the box, a small key fell onto the table with an even smaller piece of paper taped to it. Unfolded, it said to look under the 3rd tile to the right of the 6th tile from the door of the bathroom. I looked around me, trying to gauge if I was still awake or if I had stepped into a Nancy Drew book. The throbbing pain in my shin as I stood up too close to the table confirmed the Awake Theory.
Yes, the tile was loose. Yes, there was a box under it. Very predictable and cheap mystery novel-like. Old pictures of my grandmother and a man that I didn’t recognize. Moving into the star-crossed lover novel territory, I read the note on top. He died in the war leaving his young lover behind. A baby was born, money changed hands for silence, etc… If it wasn’t for the painful bruise forming on above-mentioned banged shin, I still would think Nancy Drew was on the case.
My grandmother had never spent the money. She hid it for years, then learned about this thing called “stocks.” The money in the shoebox was the original payoff; the second piece of paper in the mystery box was about this newfangled company called “Yahoo.” She had hoped it would die, along with the money and her memories. Instead, it made me a secret heiress. Sweet.
“…Grandpa loved your mom as much as the boys. She would have been heartbroken to know the truth. I only write this now because she will never know. Do something you would normally think was ridiculous. And take a vacation every once in a while….”
Her picture is sitting on the sand next to me watching the sunrise over the ocean, while my “newfangled” bullet-colored Ferrari waits for me at home.
That was the one and only word I could think of as I stood there. The only thing that snapped me out of my stupor was the bit of drool I felt on my chin. I vaguely wondered how long my mouth had been open and if I looked like a codfish, but only vaguely. The foremost thought on my mind was, of course, the shoebox full of cash.
$40,000. In my garage. Like I said, unbelievable.
The condition of the old Nike box told me that it had been there a while. I’m not sure how I could have missed it, because my garage is one that usually exists in magazines. Clean, organized and sparkly, I’m pretty sure it could be in a Black and Decker tools commercial. So, the discovery of the dirty box itself was surprising, let alone the money.
I finally realized I needed to do something about it, and, while drooling was doing something, it wasn’t exactly a useful something. I dug around looking for any evidence of where it had come from. Satisfied that I would find no clues in the garage, I gathered it up and decided the kitchen table would work.
True to my OCD nature, I neatly stacked the money in equal piles, making sure that I had counted it correctly. I checked each bill, a random combination of 1’s through 100’s, in case there was a note on or between them. Then, as I neatly destroyed the box, a small key fell onto the table with an even smaller piece of paper taped to it. Unfolded, it said to look under the 3rd tile to the right of the 6th tile from the door of the bathroom. I looked around me, trying to gauge if I was still awake or if I had stepped into a Nancy Drew book. The throbbing pain in my shin as I stood up too close to the table confirmed the Awake Theory.
Yes, the tile was loose. Yes, there was a box under it. Very predictable and cheap mystery novel-like. Old pictures of my grandmother and a man that I didn’t recognize. Moving into the star-crossed lover novel territory, I read the note on top. He died in the war leaving his young lover behind. A baby was born, money changed hands for silence, etc… If it wasn’t for the painful bruise forming on above-mentioned banged shin, I still would think Nancy Drew was on the case.
My grandmother had never spent the money. She hid it for years, then learned about this thing called “stocks.” The money in the shoebox was the original payoff; the second piece of paper in the mystery box was about this newfangled company called “Yahoo.” She had hoped it would die, along with the money and her memories. Instead, it made me a secret heiress. Sweet.
“…Grandpa loved your mom as much as the boys. She would have been heartbroken to know the truth. I only write this now because she will never know. Do something you would normally think was ridiculous. And take a vacation every once in a while….”
Her picture is sitting on the sand next to me watching the sunrise over the ocean, while my “newfangled” bullet-colored Ferrari waits for me at home.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
A Piece of History
(I am finishing (finally) a book on my grampa, Andrew Slack. This is a small sampling.)
When you hear of World War 2, the first thing that jumps out in most minds is the Holocaust, and maybe the liberators that had the gut-wrenching task of cleaning the horrifying scene left in the Nazi camps. What doesn’t come to mind as quickly - or at all unless reminded - are the soldiers that fought. The soldiers that risked their lives in a global war, the soldiers that were captured, injured or killed.
Many years ago, my grandfather - one of those mostly forgotten soldiers - brought up the question of why his generation rarely talked about their experiences. Our entire family had, at one point or another, asked him to tell his story. We knew the sacrifice that he had made and seen others make, and wanted to know so we could share with others. His answer was that the fighting soldiers felt so insignificant. There were 10 million troops, mostly young kids barely out of high school, that what was just one persons experience out of all of that?
I first dove into his war history as a senior in high school. I don’t remember the exact assignment, but it was for my American History class that I wrote a report on him. (I got an A+, by the way!) I sat him down and asked him to please tell me something of his time in the Army. I knew that, while he may have thought of himself as just one in 10 million, most of those 10 million lost their lives in the war and the ones that did survive were dying one-by-one, taking their experience to the grave.
I have seen a shift in the American public since then. We are realizing that the contributions - sometimes in the form of a life - they made all those many decades ago need to be remembered. The heroes forgotten in the horror of the Holocaust. While I would never even think of diminishing that (the pictures shown from time to time of the camps bring me to tears and make me sick to my stomach), the other stories are just as important. Someone’s father or brother or husband or son gave so much to end that atrocity and they should be remembered. My children will never know their great-grandfather. My daughter was a toddler and my son not born when he passed away. But I hope to pass on his legacy to them and the others in their generation and beyond by telling his story.
When you hear of World War 2, the first thing that jumps out in most minds is the Holocaust, and maybe the liberators that had the gut-wrenching task of cleaning the horrifying scene left in the Nazi camps. What doesn’t come to mind as quickly - or at all unless reminded - are the soldiers that fought. The soldiers that risked their lives in a global war, the soldiers that were captured, injured or killed.
Many years ago, my grandfather - one of those mostly forgotten soldiers - brought up the question of why his generation rarely talked about their experiences. Our entire family had, at one point or another, asked him to tell his story. We knew the sacrifice that he had made and seen others make, and wanted to know so we could share with others. His answer was that the fighting soldiers felt so insignificant. There were 10 million troops, mostly young kids barely out of high school, that what was just one persons experience out of all of that?
I first dove into his war history as a senior in high school. I don’t remember the exact assignment, but it was for my American History class that I wrote a report on him. (I got an A+, by the way!) I sat him down and asked him to please tell me something of his time in the Army. I knew that, while he may have thought of himself as just one in 10 million, most of those 10 million lost their lives in the war and the ones that did survive were dying one-by-one, taking their experience to the grave.
I have seen a shift in the American public since then. We are realizing that the contributions - sometimes in the form of a life - they made all those many decades ago need to be remembered. The heroes forgotten in the horror of the Holocaust. While I would never even think of diminishing that (the pictures shown from time to time of the camps bring me to tears and make me sick to my stomach), the other stories are just as important. Someone’s father or brother or husband or son gave so much to end that atrocity and they should be remembered. My children will never know their great-grandfather. My daughter was a toddler and my son not born when he passed away. But I hope to pass on his legacy to them and the others in their generation and beyond by telling his story.
Friday, May 8, 2009
Broken Walls
It’s true. When you’re not looking, or even caring, things happen.
It’s hard to let down your guard. The wall you build around you was meant to protect you. After so much pain and heartbreak, it completely surrounds you and seems to be impenetrable. The problem with your wall is that it does its job too well. Yes, your broken heart won’t be cracked again, but neither will it he healed. The wall that you so desperately use to stay safe won’t allow anything through - even the good that might still be out there.
Little pebbles hitting your window, bouncing off and landing around your yard. You need a boulder to break through. Patience and true caring, not giving up so easily and understanding why you built your wall. That’s what breaks through. Yes, the possibility of hurt is still there, but so is the possibility that you’ll never need to build your wall again.
It’s hard to let down your guard. The wall you build around you was meant to protect you. After so much pain and heartbreak, it completely surrounds you and seems to be impenetrable. The problem with your wall is that it does its job too well. Yes, your broken heart won’t be cracked again, but neither will it he healed. The wall that you so desperately use to stay safe won’t allow anything through - even the good that might still be out there.
Little pebbles hitting your window, bouncing off and landing around your yard. You need a boulder to break through. Patience and true caring, not giving up so easily and understanding why you built your wall. That’s what breaks through. Yes, the possibility of hurt is still there, but so is the possibility that you’ll never need to build your wall again.
Friday, May 1, 2009
Party
Life’s a party, live it up
Take it by the horns
And don’t give up
Live every day as if
It might be your last
Act like a rockstar
Livin’ large and fast
*Dance and sing and live the dream
Don’t need to sleep
Don’t need to eat
Livin’ on lace
Gotta finish the race
To the end
Man, you’re in it
You’re on the floor
Seeing all whit
Another early morning or
Another late night
Who cares what they say
Don’t take their advice
It’s not really that late
Just grab a slice
And
*
- You’re a star
At least in your mind
Gotta keep up
Can’t get behind
*
Take it by the horns
And don’t give up
Live every day as if
It might be your last
Act like a rockstar
Livin’ large and fast
*Dance and sing and live the dream
Don’t need to sleep
Don’t need to eat
Livin’ on lace
Gotta finish the race
To the end
Man, you’re in it
You’re on the floor
Seeing all whit
Another early morning or
Another late night
Who cares what they say
Don’t take their advice
It’s not really that late
Just grab a slice
And
*
- You’re a star
At least in your mind
Gotta keep up
Can’t get behind
*
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Matilda and the Alien
Matilda laid very still in her bed. She listened as hard as she could, waiting for the sound of her mom and dad’s bedroom door to click shut. She felt like she had been laying in bed forever. She had her pink flashlight under her pillow, and had put her shoes and coat under her bed where her mom wouldn’t see them.
There it was - the click of the door. She laid there a few minutes more, just in case. Then, when she couldn’t hear anything else, she very quietly got up. She dug her shoes and coat out and put them on, got her pink flashlight from under her pillow, and then, as quietly as she could, opened her window. She was glad that they didn’t have two stories in their house. She climbed over the window sill and shut it, making sure she put a little rock under it so it wouldn’t shut all the way.
Matilda ran across the yard and snuck through the gate. Behind her house was a big field full of really tall wheat. She stopped at the edge and looked down the rows. She took a big breath, turned on her pink flashlight and walked into the wheat.
Matilda walked straight down the row for a while. She turned right when she saw a purple ribbon, then left when she saw another one. Pretty soon her flashlight shined on the spot where the wheat was gone. She walked out into the flat circle, nervous because she thought it might be gone.
But it wasn’t! It was still sitting there, shiny and round and sparkly!
She had seen weird lights and heard a little “poof” three nights ago. She had been very frightened, especially when she heard a tapping on her window. But, she was more curious than scared, and when she went to the window she saw a big pair of even more scared eyes. The little alien was only as tall as her knees, and he was blue and hopped everywhere. He was the nicest alien Matilda had ever met, but she hadn’t met any other aliens.
He told her that he was flying home in his little ship when it crashed into Matilda’s wheat field. He had run out of green beans, which is what made his little ship fly. Matilda’s mom was surprised when Matilda started asking for green beans for dinner. She didn’t see Matilda scoop them into a little bag every night!
The little spaceship door opened, and the little blue alien came out. Matilda pulled a bag of green beans out of her pocket, and the little alien took them and put them into a little hole in the bottom of his ship. Then he ran back into it, and all of a sudden the lights came on and it started humming. His spaceship was working again!!!
He came back out and gave Matilda a big hug and thanked her for the green beans. He had enough to get all the way home now. He went inside again and closed the door, then waved out of the window. The spaceship floated into the sky, spitting out green bubbles. Then it made a squeak and shot away into the sky. Matilda waved goodbye until she couldn’t see it any more.
There it was - the click of the door. She laid there a few minutes more, just in case. Then, when she couldn’t hear anything else, she very quietly got up. She dug her shoes and coat out and put them on, got her pink flashlight from under her pillow, and then, as quietly as she could, opened her window. She was glad that they didn’t have two stories in their house. She climbed over the window sill and shut it, making sure she put a little rock under it so it wouldn’t shut all the way.
Matilda ran across the yard and snuck through the gate. Behind her house was a big field full of really tall wheat. She stopped at the edge and looked down the rows. She took a big breath, turned on her pink flashlight and walked into the wheat.
Matilda walked straight down the row for a while. She turned right when she saw a purple ribbon, then left when she saw another one. Pretty soon her flashlight shined on the spot where the wheat was gone. She walked out into the flat circle, nervous because she thought it might be gone.
But it wasn’t! It was still sitting there, shiny and round and sparkly!
She had seen weird lights and heard a little “poof” three nights ago. She had been very frightened, especially when she heard a tapping on her window. But, she was more curious than scared, and when she went to the window she saw a big pair of even more scared eyes. The little alien was only as tall as her knees, and he was blue and hopped everywhere. He was the nicest alien Matilda had ever met, but she hadn’t met any other aliens.
He told her that he was flying home in his little ship when it crashed into Matilda’s wheat field. He had run out of green beans, which is what made his little ship fly. Matilda’s mom was surprised when Matilda started asking for green beans for dinner. She didn’t see Matilda scoop them into a little bag every night!
The little spaceship door opened, and the little blue alien came out. Matilda pulled a bag of green beans out of her pocket, and the little alien took them and put them into a little hole in the bottom of his ship. Then he ran back into it, and all of a sudden the lights came on and it started humming. His spaceship was working again!!!
He came back out and gave Matilda a big hug and thanked her for the green beans. He had enough to get all the way home now. He went inside again and closed the door, then waved out of the window. The spaceship floated into the sky, spitting out green bubbles. Then it made a squeak and shot away into the sky. Matilda waved goodbye until she couldn’t see it any more.
Friday, April 24, 2009
Drowning
I feel like I could drown
I can’t see the ground
From here
I can’t see where to go
How to get back home
And I feel like I can’t get through
What can I do to find you
I need you now
More than ever before
*I’m dying inside
There’s nowhere to go
Why don’t you help
See that I need your hand
I feel like it’s not enough
What I do isn’t good
Enough for you to
Answer me
I can’t see the ground
From here
I can’t see where to go
How to get back home
And I feel like I can’t get through
What can I do to find you
I need you now
More than ever before
*I’m dying inside
There’s nowhere to go
Why don’t you help
See that I need your hand
I feel like it’s not enough
What I do isn’t good
Enough for you to
Answer me
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